


Miscellany

by PunishedPyotr



Series: White Diamond [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Ahegao, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Art, Belly Bulging, Comics, Concussions, Crossdressing, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, D/s, Depression, Eli goes to therapy, Epithets, Fanart, Feeding, Ficlets, First Aid, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, Goats, Guest Starring: Child Soldiers, Infidelity, Jeff Goldblum - Freeform, M/M, MLA cited, Masturbation, Memes, Mentions of Animal Cruelty, Meta, Mission Fic, Night Terrors, Oculolinctus, Overstimulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychotic break, Requests, Russian diminutives, Sex Toys, Slapstick, Solicon fakeout, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, V is a good dad who is doing his best, aesthetic edits, decomposing corpse, dubcon, historically accurate ethnic conflicts, implied Lima Syndrome, individual warnings/ratings at beginning of each ficlet, ntr, questionably-accurate depictions of armed combat, reupload, sex dungeon weekend getaway, softboy emo teen Mantis cavorting with Ocelot at the KGB, tags added gradually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 100
Words: 113,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr
Summary: Assorted things (ficlets, art, etc.) belonging in continuity withWherever I Go, I'll Make It Homeet al. No end in sight, for now. Now including fresh new content instead of just reuploads!!





	1. Doxxing/revival memes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LADIES AND GENTLEMEN  
>  _THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (aireyv sent me these pls no bully -pp)

  

  
(h/t Dacryphilia)

  
(h/t [Brambora](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambora))

   
(h/t Brambora again)


	2. Konejšení

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ever since leaving Outer Heaven, the only times Mantis was ever affectionate like this was when Liquid was trying to calm down after a nightmare[.]"
> 
> General Audiences - mentions of past Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 1,553

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title credit goes to Brambora, because I do not speak Czech.

1996, Northern Africa.

Liquid woke up screaming.

Mantis jolted awake next to him, and immediately reached down for him - Liquid had been sleeping on the floor of the Jeep, with Mantis at Liquid’s insistence taking up the backseat — Liquid freaked, slapping Mantis’ hand away and jumping up, clambering over the front seat, and faceplanting off the side of the car.

“Eli,” Mantis said, sitting up and leaning over the side of the Jeep.

“ _Get away from m_ —-“

“Eli.”

Liquid started at Mantis’ voice, then propped himself up, blinking rapidly and looking around. “Where…? What?” He swallowed hard, and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the ground, eyes shut tight. “A d-dream…”

“Come here, Eli.”

Liquid didn’t move other than the barely-visible trembling of his shoulders.

“Eli, come here,” Mantis said again, as gently as possible.

He hesitated for another few moments, then got up and climbed back into the Jeep, sitting next to Mantis. Mantis carefully brushed sand off his face, and Liquid flinched at the first touch. He was staring at Mantis with eyes wide, pupils dilated, sweating slightly and breathing so quickly that he was going to pass out soon if he didn’t calm down.

Mantis ran his hand back over Liquid’s hair, and he leaned into his palm, still unblinking. Mantis shifted his hand down a little to cup the side of his jaw, and where his hand rested against Liquid’s neck he could feel his heart beating hard and too fast.

“Just a dream,” Mantis said.

Liquid nodded.

“Deep breaths, Eli.”

Liquid nodded again, trying to force his lungs back under his control, timing his breathing against the sound of Mantis’ breath hissing through his gas mask. It helped a little. So did Mantis softly rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone, perhaps moreso. And when Liquid’s mind had finally stopped trying to tear itself apart under the weight of unwanted memories - although he was still distressed and jittery - Mantis pulled him towards himself, letting him lean into his chest, and rested his arms on his shoulders.

“Better?” Mantis said.

“…a bit…” Liquid mumbled, closing his eyes. He was focusing on the sound of Mantis’ heart beating, still trying to ground himself. “We’re- we’re in the Sahara right now, yes? Not in Al-Dibdibah…”

“Yes, the Sahara,” Mantis said, “you are not too cold, are you?”

“I’m fine…”

“Did you get enough sleep already? I doubt you will be able to get back to sleep tonight without my help.”

Liquid thought about it for a bit, but couldn’t come to a definite conclusion. Mantis sighed. He could probably take that as a no.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Mantis said.

He shook his head, and pulled Mantis closer, tucking his head under his chin. Mantis rubbed his back. “I don’t want to have another nightmare.”

“I can make sure you don’t.”

“You told me that was difficult… it’s only driving tomorrow, anyway, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm. You can go back to sleep if you want to.”

Despite the calm conversation, Mantis could still sense Liquid’s mind twisting nervously, a wild animal caught in a trap, a restrained and injured beast. And despite what he said, what Liquid really wanted (or at least what he really would have liked) was to just stay up in Mantis’ arms, not having to leave off on the attention anytime soon.

That was fine. Mantis didn’t need any more sleep than he’d already gotten at this point.

“How can I sleep when you are still upset?” Mantis said, settling into the backseat, Liquid easily following the move. “I think I will just hold you until you have calmed down.”

“Hn.”

Mantis went back to stroking his hair. “We are thousands upon thousands of miles away from any of that,” he murmured. “You survived, life went on… I will never let anything like it happen to you again, Eli.”

“I know you won’t,” Liquid said.

“And the only way you will ever see any of your captors again is in dreams. I made sure of that.”

Liquid half-sat up. “Oh?”

“They are all dead.”

Liquid stared at him incredulously for a moment, then Mantis pulled him back to himself, threading his fingers through his hair again. “I realize it would have been better if you could have done it yourself, but this was not long after your father recovered you and you were not in a physical or mental state for it… and I simply could not stand it anymore. …I am sorry.”

“I see,” Liquid said at length. “Even the nice one?”

“He was first and quickest; I simply stopped his heart. No pain, minimal fear.”

“And everyone else?”

“The appropriate amount of violence.” He nudged Liquid’s ear with the filter of his gas mask. “One I turned completely inside-out, while forcing all the others to watch,” he whispered. “It was very gory.”

Liquid’s fingers - already curled loosely - flexed for a second. “Did he scream?”

“He tried.”

“And the- the others — were they afraid?”

“More afraid than any of them had ever been in their worthless lives. But if I could have made them suffer more, I would have… there was no way I could have, in one afternoon, paid them back even a _fraction_ of how much they made you suffer. How badly they hurt you…”

“How they broke me,” Liquid muttered.

Mantis didn’t want to bring up how technically it was Revolver Ocelot who had struck that final blow to Liquid’s psyche, the one that would have killed him if Venom hadn’t come and taken him back to Mother Base a few hours later. Liquid only ever thought a little about Ocelot nowadays, and Mantis only helplessly hoped that Liquid would eventually forget about him if they didn’t discuss what had _happened_ between the two.

“…I’m glad they’re dead,” Liquid said after a while. By now he had largely calmed down, his breathing and heartrate more or less back to normal, and he wasn’t shaking anymore, although his thoughts were a little fuzzy and Mantis knew him well enough to know that his current docility was mostly just a sign that his nightmare had left him emotionally exhausted. “I mean, I would have preferred to take revenge _personally_ \- although, obviously, you could have helped if you… if you wanted to — but…”

“But even now it would be… difficult for you to handle meeting those who did that to you, face to face,” Mantis finished his sentence for him.

“…yes…”

Silence fell, apart from the faint hum of wind slipping over sand dunes.

Mantis nuzzled Liquid. “I killed them in your place not only because of my own impatience, but also because if they were given any more time they would have disbanded and scattered, or moved camps. It would be difficult to find them again, but we can both agree that they should not have been allowed to live…”

“Mm.”

He frowned slightly behind his mask. Of course Liquid had to wonder why Mantis hadn’t told him about this until now… “It was not because I thought you were incapable of it,” Mantis said, almost hesitantly, “I was impatient… I couldn’t resist your desire for vengeance… and Eli, it was the closest I could come to protecting you. Not to say that you necessarily need protection, but—“

“No, I understand,” Liquid said, “I was lucky to make it out of there alive and… physically intact, mostly.”

“You… _were_ in a fragile state, but that did not mean I thought of you as too fragile to handle it on your own. Just, at that time…”

“Mantis,” Liquid said, shifting his weight closer against him, “you’re just trying to justify yourself to _yourself_ now, not me.”

“…”

“Nevermind. It doesn’t matter if it was you or I that did it, they paid for everything they put me through and I— I… I-I shouldn’t even be thinking about it anymore. It’s just a waste of time and energy.”

“You have a point,” Mantis said.

“Right,” Liquid said, “so from now on, I just won’t think about it.”

Because _that_ had worked so well back at Outer Heaven. Mantis kept his thoughts to himself, though. “And if you have more night terrors?”

Liquid was fully aware that it was more of a ‘when’ question than an ‘if’ one, but nonetheless he said, “ _If_ I have any more dreams about it, I’ll just brush them off when I wake up. It’s nothing worth panicking over.”

“Hm, so, I suppose, you won’t be wanting me to be so affectionate like this to calm you down anymore,” Mantis said, curling a lock of hair between his fingers, “you’ll be wanting to just handle that yourself."

Liquid blinked, then tilted his head to look up at Mantis (still with his head pressed against his shoulder). “No,” he whined. “I like this.”

“Hmm…”

“I-It’ll be easier to brush off the nightmares if you-“

“I get it, Eli,” Mantis said, gently pushing his head back down. “I don’t mind cuddling.”

“Mantis, don’t use the word ‘cuddling’, it’s just… emasculating…”

“Would you prefer snuggling?”

“Agh, that’s worse!”

“Snuggling and petting your hair…”

“Oh my god. Shut up. Ten more minutes and then we’re driving out of here.”

“Fine, fine…”


	3. Piece by Piece (Omake)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in the ending author's notes of _Piece by Piece_ , but the link has since been removed.

  
  
  



	4. Triptych (Moodboard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ocelot, Mantis, Liquid - _Wherever I Go, I'll Make It Home_


	5. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid bites off a little more than he can chew.
> 
> Explicit - very brief reference to past Rape/Non-Con, No Archive Warnings Apply otherwise  
> W/C 5,086

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this is the infamous giant dildo ficlet, so sue me

200X, FOXHOUND headquarters.

“I said no touching.”

Liquid whined loudly, trying very unsuccessfully to yank his hands away from where Mantis had his wrists psychically pinned to the side of the bed, managing only to awkwardly jerk his elbows around.

“Behave yourself, Eli. You have already lost your privilege to a nice soft bed.”

“O-Oh, I don’t mind the floor,” Liquid crowed, but the effect was kind of ruined by his blushing and heavy breathing and _very_ conspicuous, twitching erection.

The reason why it was so conspicuous was because Liquid currently had his legs spread almost as far as he could get him (and mind, he was a flexible man), doing his damned best to tempt Mantis into doing something a little more _intimate_ than just teasing him and holding him on the edge of orgasm with just his hands, and no penetration — and Liquid was really starting to get frustrated about that point. Especially since Mantis would absolutely not allow him to just do that himself. That was against the rules.

Liquid both loved and really, really fucking hated having rules.

“One of these days I really should start punishing you for complaining,” Mantis said, rocking back on his heels. He was crouching in front of Liquid, and hadn’t actually touched him for at least five minutes, although according to his jumbled, mushy thoughts, it felt like hours to Liquid.

“Come on, M-Mantis.”

In a very impressive wriggle, Liquid stretched himself out, clamping his legs around Mantis’ waist and hooking his ankles together, and drew Mantis towards himself before he could really react.

“Come onnn,” he said, the second word trailing into another whine, “come on, Mantis, p- _please_ —“ He rocked his hips, grinding his ass feverishly against Mantis’ crotch, and Mantis’ stomach turned.

“You stop that right now, Eli, or _delay_ will turn into _denial_.”

Liquid let his chin drop to his chest, sighing in defeat and relaxing enough to let Mantis move back again, _out_ of his leg-range this time. And then after a few seconds, Liquid looked back up at him and bit his lip, whimpering.

 _Please, Mantis_ , he thought, _just once. I won’t ever ask for it again if you do it just_ once.

“That is a lie,” Mantis said dryly.

“W-Why do you keep saying ‘no’?!” Liquid burst out, and twisted against his psychic restraints, hissing. “What’s so wr-wrong with it, Mantis, why c-can’t you just fuck me already? Please, Mantis, I want y-you so _b-badly_ …!!”

Mantis didn’t respond, just gave him an extremely unimpressed look.

“Fuck me, Mantis!!” Liquid shouted, kicking his legs petulantly, “just do it a-already! Please, I w-want to feel you— f-fuck me until I can’t w-walk anymore—- come on, come _on_ , please, Mantis, M-Mantis _please_ just stick it in me already—“

God. He was literally throwing a tantrum over this. It was, despite the subject matter, unbelievably childish.

“—I want you, I n _-need_ you to fuck me, Mantis, I need t-to feel your long hot throbbing cock i-inside me, and I need to feel your s-seed inside me, Mantis, please, just _take_ me already, just _claim_ me, come on, M-Mantis, you said I’m yours s-so mark your _fucking territory already, Mantis, just pin me down and_ -“

His filthy tirade continued for a while, and Mantis listened to him rant and plead with no change in expression, and eventually Liquid ran out of steam and sagged against the bed, panting and mewling.

“Got that out of your system, Eli?”

“…y…yes…”

Mantis leaned forward, kneeling over Liquid with the filter of his gas mask about an inch away from his downturned face. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. That was embarrassing just to _watch_.”

“Mmn…”

“You know this room is not soundproofed.”

“Oh… oh, s-shit, I didn’t w-wake anyone, d-did I—?”

“Hm. No.” Mantis sat back again. “Still…”

“P-Please, Mantis… please… i-isn’t there something I c-could do to get y-you to d-do it?” He bit his lip again for a second. “There h-has to be s-something, right? Y-You know, Mantis, I th-think that railing me u-until I can hardly b-breathe would be a good p-punishment for something or other… n-no?”

Mantis rolled his eyes. “Not when you would treat it more like a reward.”

“Nnngh…”

He let Liquid stew in his frustration for another couple minutes, then leaned over him again, gently running his hand up the inside of his thigh. Time to bring the game to an end for tonight. “Although, Eli…”

“A-Ahh…!”

“If you want to be _filled_ that much,” Mantis whispered in his ear, curling his fingers around his dick and starting to softly pump it, “then I suppose sometime this week I could take you to that sex shop I frequent and let you pick out a toy.”

“Ah- ghn— r-really…? -—khh, oh, M-Mantis…”

“Mhm.”

“I-I’ll hold you t-t-to th-that, Mantis… mmnh… g-god, Mantis, please—“

“Close?”

“Yes… y-yes, please, Mantis…”

Mantis nuzzled him. “Go ahead.”

A few days later.

“I’m through with paperwork for the afternoon,” Liquid announced, flopping down on the break room couch next to Mantis.

“…you have not even looked at a third of it.”

“I said I’m _through_ , what part of that didn’t you get, Mantis?”

“Our illustrious leader,” Wolf snarked from behind the couch.

Liquid rolled his eyes, then elbowed Mantis. “Clearly your schedule is free today,” he said, indicating Mantis’ book with his chin. “Why don’t we just go into town for a bit and get that shopping we discussed done?”

“Fine by me,” Mantis said, snapping his book shut, “but as soon as we get back, you are finishing your paperwork, _boss_.”

“Tch. Fine.”

“Headed into town?” Wolf said, “mind if I tag along? I am running low on diazepam…”

“Er…” Liquid glanced at Mantis, his face going a little red. _I’d really rather she didn’t…_ , he thought.

 _It won’t pose a problem_ , Mantis told him, _we can just drop her off at that shady pharmacy and go about our business, and pick her up again when we are done._

_She’ll see what we bought…_

_Please. Everything is discreetly packaged._

“Of course, Wolf,” Liquid said, glancing over the back of the couch. “No problem.”

About an hour later.

Wolf was dropped off at the shady pharmacy and the car was parked far away enough from the sex shop that it wouldn’t be associated with it (not that the car itself was easily associated with FOXHOUND in the first place). Liquid and Mantis stood in front of the shop’s blacked-out doors.

It finally occured to Liquid to wonder just why the hell Mantis was a _regular_ at this place.

“It’s where I buy my clothes,” Mantis said.

Liquid opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t really think of anything to say other than _That explains so bloody much_. He shut it again.

Mantis scoffed and, when Liquid hesitated on following him, having never been in any kind of establishment like this before in his life, grabbed Liquid’s hand and dragged him in behind him.

“Er- er, wait, Mantis, maybe I should just wait outside,” Liquid started.

“No one will even notice we are here,” Mantis said, “the SEP field, remember?”

“Oh…”

The bell of the door chimed as they walked in, and while the cashier turned to greet them, she didn’t manage to say anything, her eyes sliding off of both Liquid and Mantis before she turned back to the customer at the register without comment. Liquid let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

He definitely should have expected that. He was sure that the type of person who went to or worked at this type of place was _not_ the type of person Mantis would tolerate interacting with very well.

“Yes, yes, very perceptive of you, Eli. Come, over here. Let’s get this over with.”

Liquid _tried_ not to stare around the place as Mantis brought him towards the back of it, but it was difficult. There were plenty of things he _expected_ , sure, dozens of different types of lube and condoms, and lingerie of all sorts of sizes and styles, and there were of course things like nylon rope, chains, whips of varying degrees of how painful they looked, and even stereotypical fuzzy pink handcuffs. Liquid was pretty sure he spotted a leather harness exactly like Mantis’ in with the BDSM gear. There were also a whole lot of things that Liquid didn’t even _know_ what the hell they were or how they were used.

Mantis tilted his head back and cackled. “You’re embarrassed.”

“What?” Liquid said, suddenly noticing how hot his cheeks were, “no I’m not.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“—well I’ve never been in any place like this before. It’s so… so… _indecent_.”

“Eli, you have probably had more kinky sex in your life than everyone else in the building combined.” Mantis paused for a moment, then said, “of course, I have no interest in actually _verifying_ that assumption, but still…”

“There’s… there’s only, what, four customers in here besides us…?”

“Six, plus the cashier, the manager, and the poor sap on cleaning and stocking today. But they do not matter. …here we are.”

The back wall of the store was, upon closer inspection, stocked floor-to-ceiling with an obscene (pun intended) amount of vibrators, fleshlights, and dildos, all neatly lined up on shelves for display. Liquid blinked, trying to figure out how exactly to respond to this assault on his retinas.

“I really must be rubbing off on you,” Mantis muttered.

“Why does… what… w-what’s stopping people from just using their hands?” Liquid said faintly.

“Just find one you like, Eli.”

Liquid frowned. “Er… I know, Mantis, how about you just surprise me—“

“No,” Mantis said flatly. “If you don’t want to pick something out, then the whole arrangement is off and you have officially forfeited your right to complain about a lack of penetration.”

Dammit. Fine. Liquid put his hands in front of his mouth, taking a deep breath through his nose - and regretting it immediately, he couldn’t place what exactly it _was_ but this place smelled _weird_ \- and let his eyes trawl over the wall of sex toys.

They eventually fixed on what had to be longest, thickest, _largest_ dildo in the entire goddamn county.

Liquid stared at it, mostly in horror. _This… only exists for novelty purposes, right?_ he thought.

“No,” Mantis said, “Eli, you would not believe what kind of things the human body is capable of… accommodating.”

“So that… _thing_ … can actually…?”

“…I would not recommend it.”

Liquid turned to him. “Eh?”

Mantis shrugged. “Something of _that_ size is not really a good idea for someone like you, who has only-“

“Is that a _challenge?_ ”

“…Eli.”

He pointed at the monstrously large silicon… well, he wasn’t exactly sure it was supposed to be a penis, per se, but whatever. “I- I want that one, Mantis.”

Mantis stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head. “Idiot. …but if you insist.”

“Ah… r-right. Right, of course, glad that’s settled, then.” He suddenly found himself unable to look at anything besides his boots. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and turned around. “I’ll let you handle the actual purchase, Mantis, I’ll just wait outside for you to be done.”

“Fine, fine… there are some other things I also need to get here…”

Granted, it _was_ a cooler day outside than the ambient temperature of the store, but Liquid still felt like his face was on fire as he swept out the door, not daring to even attempt eye contact with the cashier, who couldn’t directly look at him anyway.

And on the way back to the base, even Liquid knew that Wolf had _absolutely_ noticed that he was still mortified by whatever he and Mantis had done while she was haggling with the sketchy pharmacist. Mantis didn’t share with him whether or not she had connected it to the large, unmarked shopping bag he had made Liquid carry. Quite frankly, Liquid was fine not knowing.

The following week.

Honestly, Liquid really did enjoy being the FOXHOUND commander, not in the least part because all the other members of FOXHOUND liked him and more or less respected him as their leader. But for his part he would probably - well, _definitely_ \- enjoy this whole arrangement a whole lot more if the Army brass didn’t apparently find cutting FOXHOUND’s budget to be entertaining or stress-relieving or something.

And probably the _worst_ part about that was, although Liquid had actually gotten quite good at frantically scrambling to balance FOXHOUND’s books again after yet another budget cut, it always involved a hell of a lot of _paperwork_. Paperwork was _hell_.

Worst of all was that Liquid couldn’t even concentrate on it right now if he _wanted_ to.

He folded his arms on his desk, leaning his forehead against them, and groaned, shifting his weight in his chair awkwardly. About an hour ago Mantis had pulled Liquid away from his work (actually, at that point Liquid had been sidetracked by a rubber band ball, a good indicator that he really did need a break from all these spreadsheets) and shoved him into the showers, told him to clean himself “very thoroughly”, and then after that he had… well…

Well, the end result of it was that the inside of Liquid’s underwear was uncomfortably slick with lube, and there was a thick, _heavy_ buttplug shoved up Liquid’s arse that had very nearly rendered him unable to walk at all, let alone normally. (He couldn’t walk normally like this, actually. Mantis had escorted him back to his office, and Liquid had trouble keeping up with him considering his current bowlegged stagger.)

So Mantis had done _this_ to Liquid and then told him to get back to work, and promised a reward if he could focus enough to make any headway on the rebudgeting issue. It was _hard_ , dammit, especially considering how hot and sweaty this made Liquid’s whole body feel. He didn’t _quite_ have an erection, not since Mantis dumped him in his office anyway, but his dick was definitely on standby here, and he was _undoubtedly_ aroused. His heart was beating faster than it should have considering he was just sitting in a chair - and he could feel every beat of his heart throbbing around the plug - his breathing was shivery, his hands shook, and every so often his thighs would twitch.

He’d probably just die of humiliation if someone happened to come in his office tonight. Which, horribly enough, turned him on even more.

 _God_. Mantis said that he’d developed all these weird kinks as coping mechanisms, but surely a line had to be drawn somewhere. Liquid wasn’t even sure what part of all this had lead to the whole ‘just _try_ to concentrate on your work when it feels like someone’s fucking _boot_ is lodged firmly in your asshole’ thing; Mantis had explained, sort of, Liquid had been distracted at the time, but he had mentioned preparation and while Liquid knew that that made the actual, proper penetration much easier and less painful, he’d always associated the process with getting fingered. This was new.

After all, the first and only person to actually fuck him _consensually_ and therefore give enough of a damn to actually stretch him a little bit before jamming a hard cock in there had been Ocelot. And Ocelot never used toys or props - the _most_ he had ever used were scarves or belts, whatever was handy, to tie Liquid’s limbs, well, when he was able to grab them and keep them still long enough to do that, anyway. (He also had an odd penchant for giving Liquid eye infections, so back at Outer Heaven it wasn’t uncommon for him to wear a medical eyepatch. It had actually wrecked his vision in that eye, though Liquid stubbornly refused to wear his prescribed reading glasses.)

Speaking of Ocelot, Liquid recalled him once saying that it was just as effective to torture someone using pleasure as opposed to pain — perhaps even _more_ effective, considering the average soldier was used to resisting pain, but he couldn’t think of any government or organization that trained their personnel to hold up against sex.

 _It is starting to get late…_ , came Mantis’ voice into Liquid’s head. He was probably only chiming in because Liquid’s thoughts had started to wander towards Ocelot, but nonetheless Liquid was stupidly relieved to hear him.

_oh god Mantis please I can’t stand this anymore_

_Already?_

_please Mantis please please please_ , he thought, rocking back and forth on his chair, white-knuckling the edge of the desk and biting his lip. He was finding that buttplugs weren’t exactly great things to try and fuck yourself with, not really stationary enough…

 _Very well, Eli, if you are_ that _desperate… meet me in our room._

Liquid swallowed hard. _That’s practically on the other side of the base!_

_Two hallways over, Eli. Not the same thing._

_I can’t walk!!_

_You_ can _walk, it is just difficult._

 _…I have a better idea, Mantis! How about_ you _come_ here _, and bend me over my desk and-_

_Eli._

_Well, what if someone sees me?!_ Liquid thought, whining out loud.

Wherever Mantis was right now (Liquid’s private quarters? naturally, Mantis shared them…), Liquid was sure he was chuckling dryly to himself. _I seem to recall FOXHOUND initially hiring you as a stealth operative…_

Fine. Fine fine _fine_ , goddammit, if Mantis was going to challenge him like this than Liquid was _going_ to rise to it. He stood up and- winced. That damned plug was heavy and it did _not_ play nice with Liquid’s legs being this close together.

Crouch-walking helped significantly, although by the time he made it to his quarters (two minutes at the most, counting the slight delay from when he heard someone walking down the adjacent hallway and nearly had a heart attack) he was panting hard, and only had the wherewithal to slam the door, lock it, and slide down the back of it, collapsing on the floor while moaning pathetically. He had to spread his legs and tilt his pelvis up in order to get at least passingly comfortable, which was a really, really lewd position, presenting himself, really, but…

Fuck. Mantis wasn’t even in here already. He should have seen that one coming.

_Where the hell are you??_

_Keep your pants on, Eli, I will be with you in a minute._

Liquid growled, tilting his head back against the door and closing his eyes. Mantis couldn’t _do_ this to him, that was just… that was just _rude_. Spitefully, and knowing full well he would pay for it soon, he palmed the front of his pants, massaging his crotch and feeling his cock strain against the fabric, fully hard again in almost seconds. He didn’t dare unzip or even slip his fingers under his belt, but _god_ did it feel good to just rub himself like this. Even better when he shifted his weight against the floor, his breath catching as he felt the plug nudge against his prostate…

The lock clicked. Liquid’s eyes snapped open.

“Move,” Mantis said on the other side of the door, “let me in.”

“Er…” Liquid awkwardly scooted himself out of the way, just enough for Mantis to open the door and slip in, which, considering how thin he was, wasn’t very far. Mantis closed and locked the door again, looking down at Liquid with crossed arms.

“Couldn’t stand the anticipation, hmm?”

“Mantis… ah, Mantis, please, I… I…”

Mantis pressed his foot against Liquid’s erection and put _just_ enough weight on it that Liquid cried out, his hands clenching and toes curling in his boots.

“You know the rules, Eli.”

“F-F-Fuck…! M-Mantis…!!”

He relented. “We will deal with this later. For now…”

Liquid had to get Mantis’ help in stripping down to just his collar, which was just as well, because Mantis’ hands always seemed to linger warmly whenever he undressed Liquid. Liquid, kneeling on the floor, hooked his fingers into Mantis’ harness and pulled him close, kissing his neck as Mantis reached down and… Liquid sighed in relief, melting against Mantis as that stupid buttplug was pulled out.

“How close are you to sorting out FOXHOUND’s little financial problem?” Mantis murmured, tracing his finger around the outside of Liquid’s gaping hole, making him twitch and shiver.

“A-Ah… I… c-couldn’t focus…”

“Hm.”

With his hands on his hips, Mantis pulled Liquid up to stand on his knees, and Liquid, somehow picking up that maybe he should, glanced behind him.

…oh, god. He had forgotten how fucking _massive_ that thing was.

“You’re having second thoughts,” Mantis said gently, “you can call it off if you want to, Eli.”

Liquid shook his head. “I-I can do this,” he said.

“You do not have to prove anything to me.”

“I w-want this, Mantis. I-If you won’t fuck m-me, then I want th-this.”

“I am not going to fuck you.”

“I, I, I know, Mantis, I know, y-you won’t, you don’t w-want to… you d-don’t want… me…”

“I do not want to hurt or demean you,” Mantis corrected, then ran his fingers back through his hair. “Now hush, Eli.”

Mantis used his psychokinesis to uncap a bottle of lube, coat the dildo very generously, and position it under Liquid, the tip of it just prodding his asshole, all without letting go of him. Liquid hid his face against Mantis’ neck, trying very hard to quell his nervousness at the _size_ of that thing.

“Shh. Just relax.”

Liquid took a few deep breaths, then nodded against Mantis. Right, no need to be anxious about this. Whatever the worse-case scenario was here, he’d more than likely had worse (hell, he’d already _had_ some pretty bad anal trauma in his lifetime, not that he wanted to think about it), and besides, there was no way Mantis was going to let anything bad happen to him. (Although granted, it was much less the prospect of injury he was worried about so much as the potential shame of having to get any injuries incurred _treated_ …)

“I am not about to let you get injured,” Mantis said, moving the hand in his hair back down to his hip. “Your body has been prepared for this, I used plenty of lubricant, I will make sure you go slow… all you need to do, Eli, is relax.” He pushed down on his hips slightly. “Don’t tense up.”

Liquid swallowed hard, then followed Mantis’ movement, lowering himself down on the dildo — he forced himself to keep his muscles relaxed and loose as the head of it pushed into him, stretching him-

Ah.

Ahh, god.

“Oh my—- f-fuck— Mantis, i-it’s so _big_ …”

“Very observant of you,” Mantis said, still pressing down on his hips.

“Ghh… ggk, Mantis, oh god—“

He managed to make it down past the first swell, and Mantis eased up on him, letting him hold himself there, legs trembling, gulping down air. He only had a couple inches of the thing in him for now, but already it was more than he’d ever had, already filling him almost to what felt like bursting.

“O-Ohhh, g-— Mantis, this i-is… this is g-going to split me in h-half… it w-will, I swear…”

“You are fine,” Mantis said, nuzzling him.

He ignored Liquid’s mumbled, pleading complaints as he pushed down on his hips again, and Liquid continued sliding himself down, letting the dildo impale him, every curve and ridge, deeper and deeper, and he wasn’t even halfway on it yet and already it was further inside him than he’d even known was _possible_.

“Mantis… Mantis… it’s s-so big, Mantis, it’s so d-deep inside me, I s-swear I can feel it in m-my chest, Mantis, god, I-I’ve never b-been so f- _full_ before, Mantis…”

“Shh, shh.”

“Ahh… ha… Mantis, M-Mantis, I— gnnh… Mantis…”

Mantis rubbed his lower back, and Liquid moaned against him, his grip on Mantis’ harness tightening. It almost _burned_ , the way it stretched his asshole so tightly. It almost _hurt_.

“Mantis, p-please… Mantis, I, ahh, Mantis— mmn—-“

“Eli, relax.”

“Ah, oh, ohh _god_ , Mantis, M-Mantis I- I’m— nn, Mantis, o-oh no, I’m g-g-going t-to—“

He couldn’t stop his climax from cutting through him, and it was only intensified as his whole body tensed up and that _huge, huge fucking dildo_ prevented his ass from actually, well, closing. He screamed against Mantis’ shoulder, jerking and twitching, unintentionally dropping another few inches down the toy as he orgasmed.

He drew back slightly (not that moving in any direction except down and, hypothetically, up was very easy), panting, and licked his lips frenetically. Then he caught Mantis’ glance down, followed his gaze, and swallowed hard.

“I-I’m sorry, M-Mantis,” he stammered, “I d-didn’t get p-permission to… ah… a-and… and I g-got it on y-you, I got you d-dirty, I’m n-not supposed to… to…”

Mantis laughed softly, threading one hand through Liquid’s hair again. “Calm down, Eli.” He wiped the semen up off his chest with his other hand, and brought it up to Liquid’s lips. Liquid obediently took his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them and cleaning them with his tongue — he’d never liked the taste of semen, never _could_ like it, but he loved loved _loved_ Mantis ‘forcing’ him to do things like that.

“Good boy,” Mantis cooed, withdrawing his fingers. “But you know the rules.”

Liquid nodded, still breathing hard, legs still shaking, hyperaware of the dildo still halfway up his ass.

Mantis watched him shiver uncomfortably for a few moments, considering Liquid’s punishment, or more likely pretending to consider something he’d already decided on, then he put his palms flat on Liquid’s thighs and said, “we are going to keep going right through your refractory period.”

“R…really?”

“Mhm.”

“Th-that’s… ah… i-it might be t-too much for me, M-Mantis,” Liquid said.

“Oh?”

“I… ah, no, I-I meant… w-well I might g-get a little bit o-overwhelmed but, ahh… nn…”

“You are taking this slow, remember?” Mantis murmured, the filter of his gas mask at his ear. “Now just relax, Eli… relax.”

There were plenty of guys who got pretty numb after orgasm, but Liquid wasn’t one of them; he was one of the ones that got oversensitive almost to the point of pain if someone kept toying with his body after he was spent. Mantis pushed down on his thighs, coaxing him to keep easing himself down, down, all the way to the base of it, and by that point Liquid could barely _think_ , let alone talk, just cling to Mantis and moan pitifully in overstimulation, his eyes rolling back in his head, biting his tongue until he tasted blood.

“Oh,” Mantis said abruptly, “I did not know that could actually happen.”

Liquid somehow managed to pull himself together enough to follow Mantis’ gaze to his stomach, where there was a noticeable bulge from the dildo. His eyes widened.

“Is— is that- Mantis, i-is that bad— is it s-supposed to do th-that—?”

“You are fine,” Mantis said, “it just looks… strange.” He held his hand over the bulge for a moment, then ran it over it gently. “Hmm…”

“Ah- a-ahh— that feels… w-weird, Mantis…” Liquid’s tired dick twitched back to life the more Mantis rubbed at where the dildo had pushed Liquid’s organs out of its damn way. _Fuck_ , that thing really _was_ in there deep… “Ghhn…”

He flexed his abs, pushing it back, and that only seemed to force the thing further up into him and he hissed. Mantis kept stroking the stretched skin of his stomach - Liquid was used to that, actually, since Mantis had a noted tendency of obsessing over that upside-down-V-shaped scar Ocelot had given him years ago. “Hush, Eli.”

“M-Mantis…”

“Don’t fight it.”

Liquid sagged against him again, whimpering, finally surrendering to the huge, pleasurable intrusion fully. He pressed exhausted kisses against Mantis’ shoulder, mewling against his skin as the hand on his stomach trailed down, palming his cock, and Liquid very nearly orgasmed again just at that.

“Look at this,” Mantis whispered into his ear, moving his other hand back around to press his fingers into the muscle of Liquid’s ass. “Look at yourself, Eli.”

He struggled to focus his eyes between his legs. He couldn’t see much besides Mantis’ hand, his own throbbing dick, and his straining thighs.

“You took the whole thing, Eli. Good boy.”

Liquid was too far gone to know if the vague push-pull he felt at his hips now was Mantis’ psychokinesis, or Mantis was just moving his hands a little and Liquid was following the move without thinking, but either way his pelvis rolled, and the dildo shifted inside him (or rather, the dildo stayed still while Liquid’s body shifted around it), and Liquid yowled like a fucking whore.

“Good boy,” Mantis said again, nuzzling him, still running his fingers over his cock, still making him rock his hips and fuck himself with the toy.

It was _intense_.

His head was light, the whole world was spinning, and he could barely breathe, just clutch at Mantis and pant at the stretching and pressure and movement and _fullness_. Eyes shut tight, blood roaring in his ears, all he could think about was his own desperation.

“Almost at your limit…?” Mantis asked rhetorically.

Liquid nodded weakly anyway, shuddering.

A few quick pumps of the hand on his cock. “Go ahead, Eli,” Mantis said softly, “you have my permission.”

“Mnn… M-Mantis…!!”

Liquid just about passed into unconsciousness as he orgasmed for the second time in maybe half an hour. He mostly came to the conclusion that he had fainted because he didn’t quite remember what happened immediately after that - just a vague sensation of something very long sliding _out_ , and feeling _empty_ , and the comforting touch of leather-gloved hands around his waist — next thing he knew, he was in bed, tucked under a blanket, with Mantis curled up next to him, playing with his hair and humming some tune Liquid had never heard before although it sounded familiar somehow.

“That really was too much for you, Eli,” Mantis said, brushing a dried-sweat-sticky curl of hair off his cheek. “I am surprised you never wanted to stop.”

“It was… good…”

“Shh. You don’t need to talk.”

He grabbed Mantis around the middle and pulled him close, nuzzling his neck, then kissing his jaw. _I love you…_

“Mm. I know.”

_Let’s do that again sometime._

Mantis sighed. “I will hang onto that thing, then.”

_Thank you…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed the line I ended up casually retconning anyway. Consistency!


	6. Final Will and Testament of a Man Without a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The short leadership of Doom Kangaroo, and the violent death of Punching Crab.
> 
> Mature - Graphic Depictions Of Violence  
> W/C 4,400

1995, Sagaing, Myanmar.

Liquid yawned for approximately the thirtieth time since they’d gotten in the armored van and started heading towards the mission area — Outer Heaven had been training and supplying ethnic insurgents in a local village for the past several weeks, and were now providing soldiers in a final push against State authorities before the whole contract was up. A through S rank, unit two was sent, but dammit, Liquid was _tired_.

“You know,” ribbed Razor Turkey, “you’d probably have a lot more energy if you didn’t sneak off to Commander Ocelot’s quarters every other night.”

“That’s probably true,” Liquid said, leaning back in the hard, narrow seat with his arms behind his head, kicking one ankle up onto his opposite knee, “actually, it _is_ nice to have a little break from all the wild sex once in a while.”

“Not that Turkey would know, eh?” Punching Crab said.

“Not a chance.”

“Not fair!” Razor Turkey protested, “c’mon, who do you think I am?”

“A kissless virgin,” Wolf stage-whispered from a few seats over. Next to her, the unit’s other sniper, Drowsy Quoll, put a hand over her mouth and giggled.

“That’s not true!” Razor Turkey yelled, “it isn’t!”

“Shut _up_ ,” Doom Kangaroo said, “get serious, all of you. We’re on our way to-”

“Oh, lighten up,” Punching Crab said, “it’s all in good fun. Besides, Turkey - there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin!”

“Because _you_ get laid _so_ often!” Razor Turkey said.

Doom Kangaroo shook his head. “I swear…”

“They’re always like this,” Brittle Mockingbird said, “you really should just let them at it.”

“It’d just be _nice_ ,” Doom Kangaroo said with gritted teeth, “if either of them- if _any_ of you would actually _respect_ me as the team leader.”

“We respect you, Kangaroo,” Liquid piped up immediately.

“Yes,” Wolf said, “of course we do.”

“But you’re not exactly Flaming Buffalo.”

“Don’t feel bad, Kangaroo, she was a tough act to follow.”

Doom Kangaroo rolled his eyes at most of the unit members nodding in agreement at that. “Nevermind. Liquid, you’re sure you’re in good condition for this?”

“You mean he’s sure he won’t nod off in the middle of the battle?” Mellow Zebra snickered.

Liquid leaned his head to the side, popping his neck. “I’m perfectly fine,” he said, “it’s just that being on a plane tends to put me a bit to sleep, that’s all.”

“…weren’t you in the SAS?” Violet Rabbit said.

“I mean when I’m not the one flying the plane.”

“That’s fair,” Brittle Mockingbird said.

Meanwhile, Razor Turkey and Punching Crab were still arguing. The two men in their immediate neighboring seats, Sly Ibex and Mad Tapir, looked even more tired than Liquid felt.

“Why do they fight so much?” Drowsy Quoll finally asked.

“A woman,” said the medic going along on this op, Frost Beetle, shaking his head. “Which one was it again…?”

“Gull… Desert Gull,” said Mellow Zebra.

“She’s the one in the base development unit, right?” said Violet Rabbit, “with the really big-“

“The big tits, yeah, that’s her!” said Razor Turkey abruptly.

“She likes _me_ way better than _him_ , though,” Punching Crab said.

“She doesn’t like you at all!”

“Nah, she’s just playing hard to get. Women, you know?”

Everyone else glanced at Wolf, Drowsy Quoll, and Fever Tree Frog. They all shook their heads.

“I think you’ve been outvoted, Crab,” Liquid said.

“Pfft.”

“I heard she was just playing the two of you off each other anyway,” Doom Kangaroo said, “so there’s really no point in arguing about it, is there?”

“She’s going to have to pick sooner or later…” Sly Ibex muttered.

“If I were her,” said Mad Tapir, “I’d go for someone else entirely.”

“That is a fair point, actually,” Punching Crab said, “well, the first one, anyway.”

“She’d pick me,” Razor Turkey said, “clearly.”

“No, me!”

“Ha! Man, I hope you get killed by one of those State guys.”

“You’d solve a _lot_ of my problems if you got blown up yourself, you know. You oughta give it a try!”

They both laughed. Doom Kangaroo groaned and put his face in his hands.

The whole back compartment of the van rattled around as it practically bounced over a bump in the road. Fever Tree Frog knocked on the partition between the back and the driver. “Hey, watch it up there!”

“Not my fault these roads are shit!” the driver, Acid Raccoon, called back.

“She almost drove into a rice field,” Creeping Buzzard, their support liaison, laughed from the passenger seat.

“I did not!!”

“Are we there yet?” Brittle Mockingbird asked.

“Almost…!”

“Not really,” Creeping Buzzard said.

It was another hour before they reached the village, and although it passed without incident they were all glad to finally arrive and start setting up for the offensive. Similarly, the Outer Heaven personnel already there were relieved to be relieved - it was mostly support and intel staff who handled training and supply orders, so even though they did have a combat unit with them (E through C rank, unit four, so quite frankly not too much better than the support and intel folks on their own) they were still slightly on edge at the prospect of an all-out firefight taking place with them in the thick of it.

“We’ll try not to let the fighting get near the village,” Doom Kangaroo was assuring one of the NSCN people, “this is an offensive _push_ , the direction of combat should be headed _away_ from it. Once the dust settles, all you’ll need to do is hold the line until negotiations start, which at this point you _should_ be capable of.”

“Just make sure y’all remember the use the environment to your advantage,” advised Biting Tree Frog, who had been in the village since the start of the whole assignment and was very glad to be going back to Mother Base today. “You’ll have some of locals with you, listen to them.”

“Of course,” said Doom Kangaroo, then tried to get back to talking with the NSCN guys.

Liquid happened across Wolf explaining her different types of ammo to Drowsy Quoll.

“When I am out on an assassination assignment,” she said, “I like to use mercury bullets instead of conventional ones.”

“How are they any different?” Drowsy Quoll asked.

“They poison the body. With them, a direct shot is unnecessary - a simple flesh wound will quickly prove fatal… in about twelve to forty-eight hours.”

“And here I thought you could take all the direct shots you want, Wolf,” Liquid said.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I can,” she said, “but if I simply wound the target, then everyone around them will be so distracted trying to get them medical attention that there is very little risk of anyone firing at _me_.”

“And I guess no one ever thinks to test for mercury in their bloodstream?” Drowsy Quoll asked.

“Oh, it’s already too late by that point.”

“She just likes to be dramatic about the whole thing,” Liquid told Drowsy Quoll. Suddenly someone bumped into his right shoulder from behind, and he jumped.

“Watch your blind spot, Liquid,” Frost Beetle said, passing by.

“It’s not a blind spot,” Liquid called after him, annoyed.

Wolf gave him a marginally unimpressed look. “With how often you get infections in that eye, I am genuinely surprised you _can_ still see out of it.”

“I hear Agama said that if you come in because you got cum in your eye one more time,” Drowsy Quoll said innocently, “then she’s going to shoot Commander Ocelot herself.”

“Christ, is that what passes for gossip around here these days?” Liquid snorted. “Nevermind, we have things to be setting up.” It was none of Drowsy Quoll’s goddamn business… or Shadow Agama’s, either, for that matter.

According to intel, the State troops would be here in four hours. The plan was to cut them off at the mountain pass, splitting their own unit into several small groups and accompanying the local militia to ambush the State soldiers there, using a pincer strategy. Minimal casualties, hopefully. And there was a definite drawback in that their vehicles could only get them so far into the mountains, and they’d have to walk after a certain distance. The Outer Heaven soldiers wouldn’t break a sweat over this, but it remained to be seen how well the locals would fare with the heavy weaponry and equipment. (Of course, they _were_ used to carting around farming tools, so smart money was on them doing fine.)

“You know,” Wolf said to Liquid as Doom Kangaroo argued with Frost Beetle, who had gotten sidetracked by a couple sick and injured villagers - healthcare in this region was very poor, this particular village had no doctor at all — “I can’t help but feel a little sympathetic towards their struggle for ethnic sovereignty. I think we are genuinely in the right here, fighting for the Nagas instead of for the government.”

“Your opinion as a Kurd?” Liquid said. She shrugged and tilted her head in acknowledgement. “You know we’re not supposed to get emotionally involved, we’re technically only here because they’re paying us.”

“I know. Rules, and all that.” She smirked at him and started loading her rifle. “Of course, I do not think that _you_ of all people have much ground to be criticizing me about following Outer Heaven convention.”

“Sleeping with other members of Outer Heaven is perfectly allowed,” Liquid said indignantly.

“Yes, but with your _superior_ …?”

“I hadn’t joined yet when we started our relationship.”

“And at the very least, there ought to be a rule against cheating…”

Liquid shook his head irritably. “I don’t care what everyone else seems to think, I’m _not_ cheating on Ocelot,” he said, “Mantis and I are only friends. He just happens to have some… boundaries issues.”

“Hm. I did not say anything about Mantis, Liquid.”

“Oh, please. Who else could you have been referring to?”

“Alright, alright, everyone over here,” Doom Kangaroo yelled. “Come on, this is important. Time to earn your goddamn meal ticket!”

He had a map of the surrounding area (mostly of the mountain pass) that had been drawn by one of the intel guys, and had a couple places on the sides of the pass marked. “Wolf, Quoll,” he said, pointing to the one furthest from where the State troops would be passing through, “your sniping positions are right here. It’s a good view and it’s a pretty long ledge, so you can move a significant distance without losing your elevation.”

“Okay,” Drowsy Quoll said.

“You two watch each other’s backs up there. Quiet will hold me _personally_ accountable if anything happens to our snipers…”

“Dibs on Kangaroo’s diamond when Quiet executes him,” piped up Violet Rabbit.

“Shut up. Rabbit, you, Tapir, and Ibex will be over here. Fever, Raccoon, and Zebra - over here.”

“Ah, sweet,” Mellow Zebra said, “don’t you worry about a thing, ladies, I’ll take good care of you.”

“Ten bucks says one of us saves his life in the first five minutes,” Fever Tree Frog said to Acid Raccoon. She laughed.

“Turkey, Crab, Liquid — right here. You’ll be closest to where we’ll have to leave the vehicles, so make _sure_ the State troops don’t get past that line. We’re going to need those trucks.”

“Roger that,” Razor Turkey said brightly.

“I’ll make sure they don’t goof off, Kangaroo,” Liquid snarked.

“And _we’ll_ make sure,” said Punching Crab, “that Saladin’s precious son doesn’t harm a hair on his pretty head.” Liquid rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” said Kangaroo, “just do your jobs. Mockingbird, you’re with Beetle and I.”

“You two had better take good care of Mockingbird,” said Razor Turkey, “don’t want to explain to his mama why her kid barely out of diapers was shot to death in Burma.”

“That’s not funny,” Brittle Mockingbird muttered, “my mother died in the civil war.”

“Which one? You’re African, just saying ‘the civil war’ doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“If necessary,” Doom Kangaroo said loudly, talking over Brittle Mockingbird and Razor Turkey, “Mockingbird will join up with Fever’s group and I’ll escort Beetle to any wounded combatants.”

“Don’t hesitate to call in over radio if you need me,” Frost Beetle said. “You have nothing to prove here. We have no greater cause than the cold, hard cash the Naga people are paying us - so try not to _die_ for it.”

Four hours later.

“Gonna be a while before we see anything, huh,” said Punching Crab, “since we’re at the end of the pass and all.”

“Most likely,” said Liquid, looking over their little bit of natural cover with his binoculars. “I suspect we’ll get at least a _couple_ people slipping past the others, though.”

“Yeah,” Razor Turkey said, “didn’t intel say that we’re way outnumbered…?”

“We have the tactical advantage,” Punching Crab said dismissively.

“Just stay on your toes,” Liquid warned. “Ah, I think I can see live fire at the mouth of the pass now. Right on time.”

All they could really do was listen to radio chatter as they waited to see if the combat would progress to their firing range. The first two groups of E through C rank combatants had to fall back, citing minor injuries, which sent Frost Beetle and Doom Kangaroo more towards the front line. There was an explosion, which, after a smattering of Nagamese communication, one of the local militiamen excitedly confirmed that that had been a State vehicle they’d just blown up.

“They brought a convoy into the pass?” Razor Turkey said. “They’re gonna get bottlenecked!”

“They must not know the area as well as we do,” Punching Crab said, “or at least, as well as the villagers do. As I said: the tactical advantage goes to _us_.”

“Tatmadaw Kyee troops are headed up the pass on horses,” came over the radio from one of the NSCN commanders.

“Groups at the end of the pass - you got that?” came from Doom Kangaroo.

“Understood,” Liquid said into the radio.

“Acknowledged,” crackled Tapir’s voice.

“We will pick them off as they pass by,” sounded Wolf.

As Liquid watched through the binoculars, a few of the approaching cavalry were shot right off their horses - which, riderless, passed harmlessly by Liquid and his comrades a few short minutes later.

“Do you think they eat horse around here?” Punching Crab wondered out loud.

Twenty minutes later.

“Liquid! Your right! Your _right_ , dammit!!”

“What?!”

“You really are half-blind in that eye,” Razor Turkey said, shoving him to the side, “just cover the left. I’ll handle this.”

“More guys coming!” Punching Crab yelled, peering over the cover. “Jesus, I know they knew there was a rebellion brewing out here, but I swear they sent half their army!”

“We’re doing fine,” Liquid said, quickly reloading his rifle, internally seething about the ‘half-blind’ comment. “Besides, this is _fun_.”

“You’re a fuckin’ sociopath, Liquid.”

“Hey, maybe _that’s_ what Commander Ocelot sees in him!” Razor Turkey laughed, firing from around the rock formation.

“I thought the saying was _opposites_ attract,” Punching Crab said.

“Really? I guess that explains why an ugly son of a bitch like yourself is going after Gull.”

“If that’s the case, then I guess you really do have a better chance with her after all!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Liquid shouted, “you could at least _try_ to _engage the enemy_ while you’re busy running your mouths!”

A grenade arced gracefully over the rock they were using for cover.

Half a second later, an explosion.

Punching Crab was gone.

Razor Turkey stood there, right next to where Punching Crab had been, covered in blood and gore with his mouth wide open. It wasn’t until Liquid’s ears had stopped ringing that he realized that Razor Turkey was _not_ screaming. In fact, he wasn’t doing anything. Would have definitely been shot in the head by now if it hadn’t been for the rock separating them and the State troops.

“Turkey!” Liquid yelled, “snap out of it!”

Razor Turkey just stared at what was left of Punching Crab.

“Come on, you’ve seen shit like this before!! Pull yourself together!”

“Crab, Turkey, Liquid! We saw the explosion, what’s your status?” came over the radio.

“Crab’s dead, Kangaroo,” Liquid replied. “He got practically vaporized. It looks like a meat-packing plant back here.”

“Damn! Any other injuries to report?”

“Minor shrapnel wounds on my end,” Liquid said, impatiently wiping blood out of his eyes (felt like a cut on his forehead) with his sleeve, “nothing serious. Turkey! What about—“

Razor Turkey just… gaped, and slowly put his hands to his chest, then pulled them away, goggling at the blood on them.

“…I can’t tell, he won’t respond to me. Maybe his hearing was affected? He was a lot closer to it than I was. Hey, Turkey! Oi!!”

“ _Crab_ ,” Razor Turkey whispered.

“Anyway, he’s covered in blood and I don’t know how much of it is Crab’s. Sending Beetle over here might be a good idea.”

“Beetle’s working on Raccoon. She’s not-“

“I suspect she has a spinal injury,” Frost Beetle’s voice cut across, “we can’t move her out of here except on a stretcher, and I can’t just leave her myself, not until she’s stabilized. Turkey’s just going to have to make do with whatever first aid Liquid can provide.”

“With fucking what?” Liquid snapped into the radio receiver. “I can rub some _dirt_ on him if that’ll help.”

“Fall back,” Kangaroo ordered, “you two retreat to the vehicles. Hold your position there.”

“Understood. Come on, Turkey. …Turkey!”

He reached out and pushed Razor Turkey by the shoulder, hard, snarling. Razor Turkey barely reacted, taking a few steps away from Liquid but his eyes were still fixed on his hands. Liquid growled.

“I’m going to miss out on the rest of the battle because of you. Come _on_ , Turkey, the fighting should be over soon anyway and we’ve a convoy to defend.”

They left the scattered flesh and fragmented bone that had once been Punching Crab and headed back to the vehicles - or, rather, Liquid just barely coaxed Razor Turkey into following him quietly, usually by physically grabbing his sleeve and dragging him along behind him. With Wolf and Drowsy Quoll providing cover fire, they left the pass largely without incident, with Liquid only having to turn around and return fire a handful of times.

Liquid dumped the still-obviously-shell-shocked Razor Turkey in a Humvee and grabbed a rocket launcher, climbing to the top of the Humvee and setting up, _just in case_ any State troops actually managed to get far enough to be a tangible threat to their transportation. He had the hatch open so that Razor Turkey, staring off into space down below, could hypothetically hand him more ammo if he needed it.

“Crab’s dead,” Liquid heard Razor Turkey mutter to himself down there.

“Yes,” Liquid said, “yes he is.”

“I’m… I’m covered in his blood… his… his flesh…”

“Yes you are.”

“He’s- oh my god he’s all over me, oh my god—“

“If you’re feeling so talkative all of a sudden,” Liquid drawled, “can you tell me if you’re wounded or not? Or better yet, take care of it yourself. I can’t tell at a glance and I have no interest in examining you.”

“He’s all over me, he’s all over me, Crab’s all over me…”

“Get a grip, Turkey! This isn’t the first time, and as long as you stay with Outer Heaven, it won’t be the last.”

A thin whine came up from the interior of the Humvee, and Liquid, after checking the fighting in the pass with his binoculars, glanced down. “-—bloody _fucking_ _hell!!_ ”

Razor Turkey was clawing at himself, frantically scratching at every bit of skin available and tearing at his uniform, trying desperately to scrape Punching Crab’s blood off his body with his nails. “Get him off me,” he whispered harshly, eyes wide, “get him off me, get him off me, get him off me…”

“Stop that, you’re going to wound yourself!!”

“Get him off me get him off me get him off me get him off me—“

“Beetle!” Liquid yelled over the radio, “Turkey’s losing it!”

“What?”

“Should I knock him out?”

“What- you don’t have tranquilizer rounds there, do you?”

“I was thinking more of a chokehold until he loses consciousness,” Liquid said, glancing at the pass again. There was still fighting going on, and it might very well come this way, he didn’t want to waste his opportunity and fail his assignment just because he had to babysit a man having some kind of psychotic break.

“Don’t do that,” Frost Beetle said, “just restrain him so he can’t hurt himself.”

Irritably wiping blood off his face again, Liquid jumped down into the Humvee and quickly CQCed Razor Turkey into submission and handcuffed him — not that he put up much of a fight, hell, Liquid wasn’t entirely sure that Razor Turkey even knew he was _there_ , he just kept up his thousand-yard stare and his rapid, breathless whimperings of “He’s all over me get him off me get him off of me his blood’s all over me get it off get it off get it off-“

Liquid left Razor Turkey immobilized and climbed back on top of the Humvee, waiting at the ready with the rocket launcher. He only got one shot off on a straggler on a horse (it was, admittedly, very much overkill) before the announcement came over the radio that the State was calling for a ceasefire and was willing to start negotiations as soon as convenient, and would fall back to the other side of the mountains in the meantime. In other words, they had surrendered.

A huge cheer echoed around the mountain pass from the locals, and maybe some of the E through C rank soldiers who had spent the past few weeks with them, and possibly Wolf too. Liquid leaned over the Humvee’s hatch and looked down at Razor Turkey, who was lying on the floor.

“Did you hear that, Turkey?” Liquid said, “we won.”

Razor Turkey just started screaming.

That night.

“Did _you_ happen to catch what kind of meat this is?” Liquid asked Wolf, taking another bite.

“Smoked,” she replied.

“I meant what kind of animal.”

“You don’t know that, and you still put it in your mouth…? You really do take after your father.”

The Outer Heaven members who hadn’t already left (the combat units, Frost Beetle, and a handful of support personnel) had to be in Mandalay by 1300 tomorrow, but in the meantime tonight the villagers had insisted they join in on a celebration of the ceasefire. There were bonfires, dancing, music, and of course food, which was the primary reason why most of the soldiers participated - although some of them were joining in on the dancing, looked like Brittle Mockingbird was getting along with this one village girl his age _really_ well - but not all of them. Punching Crab was the only casualty on Outer Heaven’s end, although Acid Raccoon was laid up somewhere and word hadn’t really gotten out about her condition yet. Razor Turkey was nowhere to be seen, Doom Kangaroo had gone off somewhere with some of the locals a while ago, and Frost Beetle was busy with wounded.

“Nevermind,” Liquid said. “Where did Kangaroo go, anyway?”

“He went to help collect bodies,” Drowsy Quoll, who was sitting on Wolf’s other side, said.

“The village priest insisted that they be buried as soon as possible,” Wolf said, “is that just a Christian thing, or…?”

“Not really,” Drowsy Quoll said, “I think he just wants to ensure they won’t rot in the pass.”

“Either way, Kangaroo’s going to need a shovel to get Crab’s body,” Liquid said. “He was all in pieces after that grenade.”

“Speaking of grenades,” Frost Beetle said loudly, sitting down heavily on Liquid’s other side, “you said you had shrapnel wounds, Liquid.” He gave him a critical look. “I can see blood on your forehead.”

“Hm?” Liquid wiped it away again. “It’s dry already, the bleeding stopped a while ago. I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, my left arm still hurts a little, but other than that…”

Liquid rolled his eyes and kept eating as Frost Beetle grabbed his left arm and rolled up his (admittedly slightly torn) sleeve. There was one wound that was still oozing blood just a little bit, and had an obvious although small chunk of shrapnel in it.

“Why didn’t you come see me about it as soon as we got back to the village?” Frost Beetle snapped, “the metal needs to be removed, the wound cleaned, irrigated, and bandaged—“

“You were busy,” Liquid said with a shrug, “we can deal with it after you eat, another forty-five minutes won’t cause any more harm.”

“ _Thirty_ minutes,” Frost Beetle grumbled, taking some anishi himself, “and then I’ll see you in the temporary hospital.”

“How is Raccoon?” Wolf asked.

“Stable. I felt alright leaving her in the care of those villagers I’ve been sort of training medically. They picked everything up pretty quick.”

“So, she’ll recover?” Drowsy Quoll said. Frost Beetle nodded. “How’s Turkey?”

“I had to sedate him. Hopefully he’ll feel a bit better when he wakes up. Oh,” he added, chewing thoughtfully, “he was actually completely physically unharmed. Crab’s body must have shielded him from the blast.”

“Probably wasn’t intentional,” Liquid said, “it all happened too fast. Just a case of wrong place, right time.”

“You should count yourself lucky you only had minor wounds, Liquid,” Frost Beetle said, “I swear, they’d better not get infected… _you_ might have delayed treatment, but that doesn’t mean _I_ won’t be on the receiving end of one of Mantis’ tantrums if there are any complications…”

“I’ll be fine,” Liquid said.

There was a kind of pause while they all ate and drank and gazed vaguely into the fire.

Finally, Drowsy Quoll said, “do you think Kangaroo will wait until we get back to Mother Base to tell Gull about Crab, or will he have the Boss tell her, or will no one break the news personally to her at all…?”

“Who knows,” Wolf said. “This is the first time we have lost someone in our unit since Kangaroo took command, is it not?”

“It is,” Liquid said.

“I wonder how well he will take it…”


	7. Diamond Dogs




	8. Gabir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “'It’s likely he would have died without you, and for that I thank you.'”
> 
> Mature - Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 2,040

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Kojima can do it, then so can I
> 
> (our boy!!!!! -pp)

199X, Southern Iraq.

The young Iraqi placed a small plate of dry, indeterminate food in the middle of the floor of Liquid’s cell. Liquid glared at it, then at him.

“I’m not eating that,” he said flatly.

“You should,” the young man said, not making eye contact. (He was the only one in the camp who actually used the masculine ‘you’ when talking to Liquid.) “You… haven’t eaten in several days.”

“Of course I haven’t. I’m starving myself, haven’t you noticed?” He turned his head deliberately, squaring his shoulders. “If _death_ is the only way I can get out of this hellhole, so be it.”

“But you- you _can’t_.”

“I can and I will.”

“No, I mean, you can’t. I’m sure you can’t. You say you will but you could never let yourself.”

Liquid glanced at the young man, surprised. He was still staring determinedly at the ground, as though afraid to look into Liquid’s eyes. “Excuse me?”

“If you didn’t have such a strong… will to live, then you would have died already, just like the others. I don’t think you can let yourself give up.” He glanced up at Liquid, but looked away again almost immediately. It was almost like he was… flustered, Liquid supposed? “A-And you… I think you do have something to live for, pilot. You have people you want to get back to.”

Liquid narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for him to go on.

“I- I hear you calling out in your sleep sometimes,” the Iraqi went on nervously. “I think one of the names is _Man_ \- _Mant_ … _Mantez_? And _father_ and _mother_ , it’s how you say mom and dad in English, isn’t it?”

Liquid snorted.

“So… please eat, pilot.”

There was a long pause. Liquid refused to move a muscle, barely breathing, his gaze fixed disinterestedly off to the side while the young Iraqi stood stiffly in front of him.

Suddenly the young man started, and fumbled at his belt, and for a hot second Liquid thought he was going to take out his gun and _force_ Liquid to eat - of course it made sense, didn’t it, as the insurgents’ last hostage it was in their best interests to keep him alive, no matter how badly that worked out for everyone in the camp — but instead he unclipped his canteen from his belt and half-crouched, holding it out to Liquid, eyes wide.

“Y-You must be really dehydrated,” he said, “they, my comrades, I mean, we don’t give you enough water. I don’t think… I don’t think it’s right, pilot. Please drink.”

Liquid hesitated, but took the canteen from him and, after a long while just staring at either it or the young man, took a sip. _God_ the water felt good against his parched tongue.

“…why are you so nice to me?” he asked in a much softer voice than he’d intended.

The young Iraqi opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t have one.

Some time later.

Liquid slowly started to come back to his senses, but he wished he didn’t. His hands were tied together behind his back, his shirt sticking unpleasantly to his skin with sweat and grime, and his pants were shoved down around his ankles - weakly he pressed his legs together, for as little dignity as that would salvage. Just moving that much hurt. Just breathing hurt.

At least he was alone for the moment. The only traces of other men in the room were those smeared on Liquid’s face and dripping out of his asshole, mixed with blood. He spat on the ground next to him, but it didn’t do much to remove the overwhelmingly bitter, salty taste in his mouth.

He still felt kind of detached from what had just happened. That was fine. He’d lost track of how many times he’d gone through it, so it was just as well if he could no longer bring himself to _react_ to it.

There was some scuffling outside the door to the room he was tied up in.

The door slammed open, and that _nice_ insurgent who was only around Mantis’ age was bodily shoved in with a panicked expression on his face. Then the door shut behind him. Liquid’s heart sunk.

“Th-this wasn’t my idea,” the young man blurted out, looking anywhere in the room besides Liquid. “I never wanted to see you like this, pilot, I’m sorry—“

“They threw you in here with me?” Liquid said dryly.

“I, I’m, I’m sorry, it was just - you weren’t the only one who noticed I was t-trying to be kind to you- that I feel sorry for you—- they said I was being indulgent and traitorous and,” he pressed his back against the door, still refusing to look at Liquid, “I think they want me to- to prove myself, or something. Or maybe they just want to torment me for my soft heart. I don’t know.” He swallowed hard. “There’s a reason why I never _joined in_ in this… this _brutality_ , pilot.”

Liquid laughed hoarsely. “Oh? And what reason is that?”

The young Iraqi very briefly glanced at him, then looked away again. “I just… I… ah…”

“No, I get it,” Liquid said, laughing again, although it was more bitter than hollow now. “You’re so nice to me all the time, but saying you feel sorry for me is only an excuse. If you _really_ felt any sympathy for me, you’d help me escape, at least _try_ to stop your comrades from _raping_ me every few days.” He laughed some more, and it was starting to border on hysterical. “You don’t care about what they’re doing to me. You only won’t join in with them because you’re a _coward_.”

“I’m-“ the young man said, trying to flatten himself against the door, eyes wide and fixed on Liquid now, “I am a coward, but—“

“But what? I don’t even think that’s the whole reason. No, nevermind, I don’t think that’s it at all. It’s quite brave to show humanity to your hostage, I think. You never join in on the _fun_ for a different reason.”

“I—?”

Liquid kept laughing uncontrollably, painfully, unable to stop himself, and he tilted dangerously, falling on his side and hitting the side of his head against the ground. “You’re so kind to me. You harbor some kind of _feelings_ for me, isn’t that right?” He half-lifted his head, then let it drop against the ground again, then again. “You want to take advantage of me, that’s all! But you’ve some twisted sense of romance that demands _privacy_ , don’t you? You won’t join in on the gang-rape because it won’t do anything for you if I’ve already got a cock in both holes and there’s another half-dozen men pawing at me at the same time. You want me _all to_ _yourself_.”

“…”

“And you want me to offer myself to you, too, isn’t that right? I’m too weak and exhausted to prevent anyone from doing anything to me. If all you wanted was privacy then you could have had me anytime you wanted, but instead you’re _nice_ to me. You want me to _like_ you.” He giggled dizzily. “You must have read about Stockholm syndrome somewhere and it must have turned you on like _hell_.” Liquid shut his eyes. He couldn’t stand looking at the young Iraqi anymore. “This must be just what you were waiting for. …very well.”

He rolled with difficulty onto his back and, turning his head so he was facing away from the doorway where the young man still stood shock-still (although Liquid’s eyes were still closed anyway), he spread his legs, shifting his hips slightly, presenting his bloody, ravaged ass.

“Go ahead,” he said hoarsely, a sick grin on his face, “I can’t stop you. And perhaps _you_ ’ll have the decency to be halfway _gentle_ with me.”

There was a long silence in which neither of them moved, except for the ragged rise and fall of Liquid’s chest. Then Liquid heard the young Iraqi walk up to him and, from the sound of it, kneel next to him.

Despite what he had just said, Liquid’s chest tightened and his stomach turned as he heard the distinct shuffling of fabric that meant the young man was doing something with his belt. Liquid couldn’t help but tense when he felt the collar of his shirt get grabbed, and pulled, Liquid half-sitting up painfully with it, but he didn’t resist. He just kept his head turned away, his eyes closed, and his thighs parted, hoping to get this over with quickly.

There was the _click_ of a pocketknife extending, and Liquid thought, _Of course_ , because if there _was_ anyone in this camp who would mercy-kill him, it _would_ be the ‘nice’ one.

Then he felt the rope at his wrists being cut away.

He didn’t dare move, or even breathe, for a few moments, then he opened his eyes and looked back at the young Iraqi man, his eyes wide and expression blank. The man had put his knife down and had pulled out a rag or handkerchief of some sort, and was wetting it with his canteen.

“I thought,” the Iraqi mumbled, eyes fixed determinedly on his makeshift washcloth, “that you might appreciate being cleaned.”

Liquid didn’t know what to think. Slowly, carefully, he adjusted his position so it was less humiliating and marginally more comfortable, and he rubbed feeling back into the scraped-raw, bleeding skin of his wrists. “If that’s what you want,” he said eventually, his mouth dry.

“I-I don’t want anything from you, pilot.”

God help him, Liquid was mostly just confused.

The young man scooted closer and, when Liquid didn’t do anything besides stare at him, carefully cleaned Liquid’s face, then his neck, and his arms, and paid extra attention to his wrists - Liquid didn’t stop him from removing his shirt so he could wipe down his chest and back and sides, too. Neither of them said anything, except for when the young man had washed everything above Liquid’s waist to the best of his abilities considering the circumstances, and - suddenly, as though shaken out of a trance - sheepishly asked if Liquid would rather do this himself.

Liquid just shook his head.

It was almost unsettling, how gentle the man was, and Liquid kept expecting the other shoe to drop, the young insurgent to flip him over onto his stomach and nail him into next week. It never came, though. Not even after he gave Liquid his canteen so he could rinse his mouth out and get some much-needed hydration.

“I just,” the boy said abruptly as he wrung the washcloth out, “I just don’t understand h-how my comrades can do… can do _this_ to you and still call themselves men. You might be our enemy, pilot, but you’re still a human being… you’re still a creation of God…”

Liquid didn’t correct him on either of those points.

“…I know they only want to break your will, but… at this point, I- I don’t think it’ll happen it all. You’re too spirited. You’re— you’re… unconquerable, pilot. And I don’t think I’m the only one that knows that, either. I think- that the others, they just _enjoy_ humiliating and violating you. …but I don’t understand it myself.”

He helped Liquid put his clothes back on with an expression that clearly stated ‘I’m sorry I can’t get you any clean clothing’.

“I don’t _want_ to understand it,” he said quietly.

“…what do you want me to say?” Liquid said.

“H-Huh?”

“Do you want me to thank you? to forgive you? to absolve you of never lifting a hand to save me? Do you want me to say I love you? …or do you want me to call you a coward and tell you I hate you more than anyone or anything in the world?”

“I…”

The boy helped Liquid stand.

“Or,” Liquid said, not quite looking at him, “do you simply want me to remember you for the rest of my miserable life?”

“That… yes. I suppose that’s… all I really want.”

Liquid laughed again, just once, very softly, as they started walking back to Liquid’s normal cell.

“I think I can manage that.”


	9. Gabir (Initial concept)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I mentioned in the comments section of "Gabir" _(the original, now-deleted one)_ that it was actually a rewrite of a different scrap I had for a separate project. Now, if you follow me on tumblr and have been for a while, you might remember that I used to post about this huge MGS fic I was planning out, the working title of which was #MGS Offscreen _(link removed)_. It got stuck in development hell for a while and eventually abandoned a while ago because so many of the ideas for that fic (that is, my headcanons/fantheories) were already being folded into and expanded upon in other fics. In particular, this series!  
>  Gabir's character was a direct reference to an extremely similar - in fact, the same, to be honest - character in #MGS Offscreen, although nothing involving him was ever posted.  
> Until now.
> 
> Mature - Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> W/C 1,539 + 389 + 1,494

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (double update today because it's valentine's day!!!!)
> 
> Linebreaks indicate that these were originally written as three different ficlets. Note that #MGS Offscreen was intended to be entirely canon-compliant, so a lot of the details aren't going to line up with Make It Home et al.

_I wonder what the rationale here is_ , Liquid thought, glancing around the camp. He wasn’t the only merc hired for this job, which wasn’t unusual at all, but it was kind of strange for someone to hire not only a bunch of independent dogs of war, but also get contracts with at least two actual mercenary companies, one of which was the PF formerly known as Diamond Dogs, Outer Heaven.

Liquid was pretty sure, in fact, that the other soldier sitting next to him at the campfire right now was a member of Outer Heaven. Hard to tell exactly what was on the patch on his shoulder in this light, of course, but he was… familiar somehow, and that was the explanation Liquid’s brain supplied.

He was awfully young though. Not like the other guys who’d been surprised to see what kind of man “that hijacking brat Eli” had grown up to be. (“We thought you got napalmed!”)

“You look like someone I used to… know, a few years ago,” the merc said randomly.

“Oh?” said Liquid, sipping his tea.

“…can I tell you something?”

“What?” Liquid was sort of glad that the man couldn’t see him rolling his eyes in the firelight (not that he was looking at Liquid anyway, just staring into the flames with his hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees).

“Seeing you here, now… makes me think I really am being haunted.”

“Haunted.”

“Yes, I… a few years ago, during- and after the Gulf War, I was sort of… caught up, with a bunch of insurgents who refused to accept that the war had ended. The group I was with, we’d dug in our heels at an abandoned village, and kept hostages so that no one would be willing to bomb us.” The Outer Heaven soldier glanced around to make sure that no one else was lounging about close enough to overhear their conversation, then continued in a slightly lower voice, “there was one prisoner I remember in particular because he was only, I think, a year or two older than me, at the most. A British pilot…”

Liquid put the tea down next to him. Couldn’t drink it with the foul taste that had sprung up in his mouth, or the nausea that passed over him as he realized who this man was.

“He was… spirited, and they- _we_ found it hard to break him. He didn’t respond to torture or anything, and he was always, always yelling and screaming and he injured more than a few of us during escape attempts or just because he was angry. He - wasn’t treated well at all. Actually,” he said with a strange, humorless laugh, “he was broken, eventually. It was- it was drugs and rape that did it, in the end. Mostly the rape, I think. I-“ he checked himself, shifted his weight uncomfortably, then continued: “I never touched him, I’ll swear on anything you’d like me to. I didn’t. But…

“I remember this one time - I always felt bad, about the hostages, but for him especially, since we were close in age and all the other hostages were years older; it was easy for me to think of the both of us as being the children, the most innocent of our respective groups. So I was always kind to him, or I tried to be, at least…” He sighed. “And my countrymen, they accused me of being indulgent and traitorous. They wanted me to… to prove myself, I suppose, or maybe they just wanted to torment me for my soft heart. They made me go alone into the room where he had just been raped by several men-

“I still… I can still see it when I close my eyes,” he said, covering his face with one hand. “It was terrible. To see someone like that… I saw the state he was in and I had to ask myself, how could my comrades do this and still call themselves men? How could they not see that, even if the pilot was our enemy, he was still a human being, a creation of God… I didn’t understand then how they could do this evil thing, and I don’t understand it now, either. I-I get that, for the sanity of everyone else in the camp, they were trying to break his will, but they… seemed to _enjoy_ violating and humiliating him.

“They threw me in there with him, and the pilot said to me- he said that he’d always assumed that the reason why I was so nice to him was because I wanted to take advantage of him, but never joined in the gang-rape because I was either a coward or… or had some twisted sense of romance that demanded privacy. That was what he assumed, and now that we were alone and he was already bound and naked and too broken and exhausted to fight back, he thought… I… he…”

He took a very long breath. “The pilot turned his face away from me and said, ‘Go ahead.’ Those were his words. ‘Go ahead, I can’t stop you, and perhaps you’ll have the decency to be halfway gentle with me.’”

There was a pause. Liquid stared into the fire. He remembered saying that, but it was strange, almost like a dream, or rather, like someone else had said it and the memory of it didn’t really belong in his head. Iraq really seemed like it had been another world sometimes.

Eventually, the merc went on: “His assumption about me was wrong. I promise you, I never touched him. After he said that, I simply cleaned him, as gently as I could, because he was wounded, you see - and then I took him back to his cell. I still remember how confused he seemed when I did that. I think about it a lot, actually. About how a man can be so mistreated that even basic human dignity becomes confusing to him.”

There was another pause, much longer this time. A dog barked somewhere.

“And then the Devil came to our camp.”

“The Devil?” Liquid spoke at last.

“It was sudden. A bombing campaign - I suppose being carried out because we’d had so many of our hostages die that the only one left was the pilot, and he was on death’s door anyway. But it wasn’t the bombing that killed, no, it was - something else. It was the Devil, sweeping through the camp with a sniper rifle that no one could have been using from a roof no one could have been on. I was the only survivor.”

“And the pilot?” Liquid said.

“Dead, of course. How couldn’t he be…? Even if the Devil had left him alone, he was dying - just the fact that he had held on for so long was incredible enough.”

Liquid laughed suddenly, so loud and bitter a sound that it made not only the man sitting next to him glance over in surprise, but also some other mercenaries standing further away. “The Devil came to your camp!” Liquid said, standing up and brushing dust off his pasts, “you _really think_ it was _the Devil?_ ”

“Everyone but me, dead in less than three minutes,” the man explained, alarmed, “but as I was riding away I heard the moans of the damned-“

Liquid grabbed him by the collar and jerked him to his feet, his face only an inch away from his. “You put me through Hell,” he spat, “is it any fucking _wonder_ I became the Devil?”

The mercenary’s eyes widened to the point where they were in danger of falling out of their sockets. “You-“ he started.

“Me,” Liquid said, dropping him. He landed on his ass, and Liquid had to suppress the urge to kick him. “I thought I recognized you, you son of a bitch.”

The soldier put a hand to his face with a despairing moan. “I thought… I thought you had died…”

“Plenty of people think that, but they’ve yet to be right.”

“H-How…?”

Liquid squatted in front of him, twisting a fist into his hair to force the man to look him in the face. “Didn’t you say it yourself?” he said, his voice only barely above a whisper, “Everyone but you, dead in less than three minutes… except, of course, for the moans of the damned. I only _crippled_ the men who brutalized me, not _killed_ them. That would have been _merciful_. Those bastards baked to death in the unforgiving sun.”

“You… you spared me.”

Liquid frowned. “Yes,” he said at length, “I did.” He let go of him, and the man quickly looked away. Liquid stood back up. “Don’t think I buy any of that shit about how you felt bad for me,” he said coldly, “if you’d had any convictions you would have stopped your comrades. I was right back then: you are a coward.” He turned away, collecting his tea, which was kept warm by the fire although he still couldn’t stomach drinking it. “Your kindness meant nothing. I left you alive only because you were my warning to the world.”

“I- a-a warning?”

“That I was not and _will_ not be _broken_.”

* * *

“Hey, Kudu,” said Jade Tree Frog.

“Is he bothering you?” said Scowling Wallaby.

“Wh- who?” said Night Kudu, the former Iraqi insurgent.

“You know,” said Scowling Wallaby, jerking his head over towards the embers of the previous night’s fire, “blondie over there.”

“Looked like you two got into a bit of a tiff last night,” Jade Tree Frog said.

Night Kudu glanced at where Scowling Wallaby had indicated; Liquid was calmly cleaning his gun. From this distance, he looked cool and professional, neither the shell of a man he had been in the prison camp nor the feral, unpredictable animal he had been the night before. Night Kudu shook his head. “No, there wasn’t an issue.”

Jade Tree Frog raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that?” Scowling Wallaby said flatly.

“Yes.”

“Because we saw him pushing you around. And you let him.”

Night Kudu shook his head again. “He was just angry.”

“You know, if you want us to settle the matter with him, we’d be more than willing to,” Jade Tree Frog said, “you’re still new, so maybe you don’t know this, but we look after our own at Outer Heaven. And we especially don’t let some upstart stray rough up our soldiers.”

“Especially if said upstart stray is that brat Eli,” Scowling Wallaby added, rolling his eyes. “We knew him when he was twelve years old and throwing Molotov cocktails at the Boss, Kudu. He doesn’t intimidate us.”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Night Kudu insisted.

“Right,” Liquid said, suddenly appearing behind Scowling Wallaby and Jade Tree Frog, stepping between them and putting one hand on each of their shoulders. The two soldiers’ backs stiffened. “There was no argument between us. What’s his name- _Kudu_ and I just happened to have met before.” He made very pointed eye contact with Night Kudu. “And nothing in particular happened _then_ , either, did it, Kudu?”

“No, nothing,” Night Kudu agreed quickly.

Liquid smiled joylessly, and it occurred to Night Kudu that the wildness in his eyes had never left. “Good,” he said, then patted Jade Tree Frog and Scowling Wallaby’s shoulders, stepping back neatly. “But, just remember, Kudu: the _sun_ is more forgiving than _I_ am.” He left.

“What did he mean by that?” Jade Tree Frog said, staring after Liquid.

Night Kudu swallowed hard. “Nothing,” he said again, “it’s nothing.”

* * *

Night Kudu woke up with a start. He… wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Looked like he was in a vacant butcher’s shop. His hands were tied at the wrists and the rope was looped over a meat hook above his head, but since he could still feel his fingers he reasoned that he hadn’t been like that for very long.

There was a tall, emaciated bald man wearing a gas mask standing in front of him.

“Um… hello,” Night Kudu said, for lack of anything better to say.

“You remember the pilot,” the gas-mask-wearing man said flatly.

There was no need to ask what pilot he was referring to. Night Kudu felt the blood drain from his face. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mantis.”

_That name…_ , Night Kudu thought, _sounds familiar._

“I’m sure you’ve heard it before,” Mantis said, “while guarding the pilot’s cell…?”

Oh. “He called for you in his sleep,” Night Kudu said.

“I know. My only regret… is that I could not do anything while he was imprisoned.”

Night Kudu glanced up at the meat hook. The tips of his fingers were starting to tingle painfully. “What- what do you intend to do now? The pilot, he… he let me go.”

“I know, he did,” Mantis said, “because you were his warning to the world.”

“That he was not and will not be broken,” Night Kudu murmured almost reflexively. Liquid Snake’s words from that night had been echoing in his head ever since.

“Well, Kudu, you will be _my_ warning to the world.” And suddenly he was very close. “That anyone who _dares_ to even _touch_ my Eli will _pay_ , and pay dearly.”

“I-I never touched him,” Night Kudu stammered, and his head snapped painfully to the side as if he had been struck. Mantis’ arms didn’t move. _Who is this guy?_ Night Kudu thought, feeling a bit of what he presumed to be blood trickling out of his nose, _the pilot’s brother? his lover?_

“I am not his lover, he is merely important to me,” Mantis said, sounding disgusted, almost as if he had read Night Kudu’s mind. “I _did_ read your mind, you idiot, I am the world’s most powerful psychic.”

Night Kudu swallowed hard. “Then you should know- I never, never touched him, not even when he offered himself to me- I didn’t—“

Again it was like he’d been punched, only this time it was in the stomach and all the air was forced out of his lungs. “You knew what was going on was _unforgivable_ , but you were too _cowardly_ to even speak up. That makes you complicit in my eyes - your _negligence_ is your guilt, and I can _feel_ your guilt, Kudu.”

Night Kudu scrambled for breath. There was no point in asking what Mantis was going to do to him. No point in asking for mercy, either.

Maybe he deserved this.

…

It was… unusual. One of his men had been abducted, so naturally as soon as the intel team had been able to come up with a general location, Venom had set out to go bring him back. But… there was no one here. No enemy soldiers, no other prisoners, no one and nothing.

He was almost starting to wonder if the intel team’s information was inaccurate or outdated when his attention was caught by a low, dolorous buzzing coming from inside an abandoned butcher’s shop.

“Think he might be in there, Boss?” came Ocelot’s voice over the radio.

“I don’t know,” Venom responded. It smelled like death in the front room, sweet and cloying and thick and wet. “If he is, then I doubt he’s still alive.” He continued to the back, pistol out.

Venom only knew it was him because of the discolored Diamond Dogs patch on one sleeve.

Night Kudu was strung up from a meat hook, split open from neck to navel, his ribs wrenched wide like bony fingers reaching out from his chest. His lungs, heart, stomach, and other organs and offal sagged from the gaping wound, dripping lazily down to the blood-covered floor. A bit of rotten spleen had stopped up the drain. Everything was covered in flies, and maggots, moving constantly over every inch of Night Kudu’s moldering corpse, a shifting, amorphous mass of black and white.

“Looks like he’s been dead for a few days already,” Venom said into the radio, holding back a cough from the stench.

“He must have been killed right after he was abducted, then,” Ocelot said, “pretty showy way to do it, too. Reminds me of a blood eagle.”

“Blood eagle?”

“It’s a ritualized execution method, originating in Norway, although historians are pretty divided on whether or not it was ever actually used or if it just existed in skaldic poetry. You cut into the victim’s back, severing the ribs from the vertebral column, and pull the lungs out through the gap, which causes the ribs to be forced away from the body. It looks almost like a pair of wings, which is where it gets the name from-“

Venom wondered why he even bothered asking.

He looked around the room, pulling his scarf up over his mouth and nose. There was only one set of footprints dried into the blood on the floor, and he couldn’t see anything around that Night Kudu’s killer could have used to pry open his ribcage like that, so he supposed that they had taken their tools with them.

“Think it was a solo job, Boss?” Ocelot said.

“From the looks of things. That would explain why there weren’t any enemies around…”

“I’ll send some men to recover the body.” They were definitely going to need hazmat suits for this op…

“Ocelot, do you think this was the work of someone who had something against Kudu in particular?”

“Hmm. I don’t know, he was a pretty unassuming guy. I’ll check into his background, see if that clears anything up.”

…

Ocelot was leafing through papers and thinking they should really get on that whole moving more of their records to a computer system thing when Jeering Serval walked into his office and saluted.

“Commander Ocelot,” she said, “there’s a rumor going around the base that Kudu was murdered by a serial killer who’s targeting Diamond Dogs. Is that true, sir?”

Ocelot stared at her. The guys sent to recover Night Kudu’s body had only just left. He knew rumors spread fast, but this was ridiculous.

“I doubt it,” he said, looking back to the papers he’d dug up on Night Kudu - his personal background as he gave it when he first joined, something like a résumé. “I think it’s more likely that this was personally motivated.”

“But Kudu was such a nice guy, sir, who’d want to kill him for _personal_ reasons? Plus, the way he was killed was so… grisly…”

“Mm.” He’d known that Night Kudu was Iraqi originally, but hadn’t remembered that he had been part of one of those scattered groups of insurgents who had persisted after the Gulf War by refusing to release coalition hostages. Now, that situation sounded familiar… “I need to make a phone call. In the meantime, Serval, don’t spread that ridiculous rumor about a serial killer around. If Kudu died because of an issue that could affect the rest of Outer Heaven, the Boss will address it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mantis’ cell phone rang. Encrypted number, as usual. He picked it up.

“Bogomol.”

“Stop calling me, Ocelot.”

“It’s not like I’m calling for pleasure. I’ll cut straight to the point. That hostage camp Eli was held in last year - there was one soldier he let escape.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And he worked for us. Past tense.”

“What is your point?”

He heard Ocelot sigh over the line. “Assuming he wasn’t indiscriminately killed just for being one of us, that’s the only thing I can find that would give someone, somewhere a reason to murder him. I thought you might know something about it.”

“Well, it wasn’t Eli. He has been in Iran for the past week.”

“Hmm.” There was short pause. “And where were you?”

“…”

“…listen, Bogomol. I realize you have an overprotective streak when it comes to Eli, but-“

“ _Over_ protective? I only did what was appropriate,” Mantis snapped.

“You certainly did a number on him. I’d compliment your handiwork if it hadn’t been on someone who reported to me.”

“It is not as though I enjoyed it.”

“It’s not as though you regret it, either. You know, Bogomol, most people wouldn’t be able to get away with abducting, torturing, and killing a Diamond Dog…”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No,” Ocelot said, and Mantis could almost hear the frown. “It’d be a waste of personnel to try to take you to task for this. I’d just advise you to keep your protectiveness in check in the future… if only because I’m sure Eli would be insulted if he heard about this.”

 


	10. Normal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid submits to his punishment.
> 
> Explicit - dubcon  
> W/C 1,591

200X, FOXHOUND headquarters.

When Mantis hooked a finger into the lead of Liquid’s collar and yanked him forward so that the tip of his nose was almost touching his gas mask’s filter, Liquid only sucked in a quick breath and stayed silent.

“I _told_ you,” Mantis hissed, “to _stay away_ from him.”

Liquid didn’t say anything.

Mantis let go of his collar, letting Liquid fall back on his heels. After a tense moment, Mantis broke eye contact first.

“You idiot.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Liquid said. His voice was curiously devoid of emotion - his mind was full of it, but all in conflict. Shame, regret, nervousness… stubborn defiance and indignation, too.

“Bed,” Mantis said with the same tone of voice one might use to command a poorly-behaved dog, still averting his eyes. “Now, Eli.”

Liquid didn’t protest. For now, anyway.

He sat on his and Mantis’ shared bed and remained silent, and barely moved except when Mantis glared at him, as Mantis irritably stripped him. He was looking evenly at Mantis. But it wouldn’t last.

Sometime around when he was naked (except for the collar) and pinned to the mattress with no room for argument, Liquid started to get uncomfortable. He knew he was being punished, obviously, he knew he _would_ be punished when he’d gone to Ocelot - but he’d been in one of his damned _moods_ and he hadn’t stopped to consider the potential consequences, and now that it was happening he was starting to break out in a cold sweat.

It was mostly the fact that Mantis wasn’t talking right now, or even letting him hear his thoughts. The complete silence, apart from breathing, coming from his lover made Liquid anxious.

“Mantis…” Liquid started as Mantis ran his hands down over his body, not with his usual almost teasing gentleness, but not roughly, either. “Mantis…?”

He winced as one of Mantis’ hands reached his groin - he was still a little oversensitive - and tried to twist his body away from the probing fingers, but Mantis wasn’t about to let him go anywhere.

Ordinarily Mantis would have sternly said “Sit still” or “Do not move” or something along those lines as he reaffirmed the psychokinesis keeping Liquid held against the bed. But not tonight. He stayed silent, his eyes narrowed and cold, his anger obvious in every movement.

“Er…”

It wasn’t until Liquid was painfully erect (not that that took too long) that he started to crack.

“M-Mantis, say something. Don’t do this to me.”

Mantis’ eyes flicked up to his for a second, then away again. He was still angry. His hand worked over Liquid’s cock but it was dry and chafing, no lube and Mantis not doing anything to spread pre-seminal fluid around…

Liquid shifted his hips as much as he could with how he was restrained. “P-Please.”

Nothing.

“Mantis, s- _say_ something. _Talk_ to m-me, please, I w-want to hear your voice.”

He wasn’t getting out of this that easily.

Liquid whined. “You don’t h-have to do it out loud. Please, I know y-you’re mad at me — I know you have a-a _right_ to be m-mad at me—- a-ahgk! Mantis, th-that _hurt!_ ”

Not even a smug “It was supposed to.”

Liquid chewed on his lower lip, struggling between accepting his punishment like a man or giving into the apprehension fluttering in his belly and asking Mantis to stop. Oh, Mantis _would_ stop if he asked him to, of course he would, but he’d still be angry at him and hell, he might be _angrier_ at him for cuckolding him and then refusing to cooperate with being reminded of his place. Of who he belonged with. Belonged _to_.

But damn it, Liquid didn’t have to like this. He _didn’t_ like this.

And maybe Mantis was thinking that he wasn’t squirming enough, because Mantis leaned over him, reducing the space between their bodies to a matter of inches. He must have purposefully positioned his head so that the lamplight would glint off of the lens of his gas mask just right, so that Liquid couldn’t actually see his eyes - the only real indicator of Mantis’ feelings towards Liquid right now was the intentionally horrible handjob still being forced on him.

With Mantis so close, Liquid found himself feeling oddly claustrophobic.

“Mantis, I-I just— Mantis- please, slow d-down a little, at least… nnh… Mantis, g-god… ow…”

A scrape of nails. Liquid’s whole body stiffened.

“ _Ow_ , fuck, M-Mantis—-“

Mantis leaned a little closer, still deathly silent, the arm that wasn’t currently half-mangling Liquid’s dick braced across his clavicles. It would only take a slight movement for him to cut off Liquid’s air.

It was more about the threat than the actual act of choking, Liquid knew that. Still, he pre-emptively took a deep breath, and held it - and Mantis didn’t move, and Liquid didn’t dare release it and take another until he’d started to go a little light-headed.

“Mantis… Mantis, p-please…”

God, he was mad at him. He really was.

Between the silence, and the manhandling, and the fact Mantis was right on top of him and he couldn’t fucking _move_ , Liquid, loathe as he was to admit it, started to freak out a little.

“M-Mantis, Mantis, please, Mantis, oh g-god—“

His heart was hammering faster than it should have been right now. It was getting hard to breathe, even though Mantis’ arm was still resting where it wouldn’t interfere with his airway. Again he tried to wriggle out from under Mantis, but he wasn’t any more successful this time.

Liquid felt excruciatingly, humiliatingly aware of how sore his jaw still was, and the salty, bitter taste in the back of his throat.

“I-I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Mantis’ hand stilled. He waited.

“I am so sorry,” Liquid went on, his voice tight, “I w-wasn’t thinking, really, I wasn’t, I know I’ve got n-no self-control, Mantis, I’m s-sorry, it was just a stupid impulse- I w-won’t do it again, really, I won’t, o-or I’ll try not to, anyway— I’ll t-try to behave myself—-“

“Will you?” Mantis finally said.

Liquid just about cried in relief. He nodded. “I-I’ll work on my impulse control, r-really, I will, I s-swear… I didn’t m-mean to… Mantis, I’m s-sorry. I am, I’m sorry, I-I love _you_ , not him—!”

“Do you?” Mantis murmured. His hand started moving again, but this time he brushed his fingers over the head, starting to spread the slickness around a little. Liquid shuddered. “You seem a little too easily _tempted_ to make that claim, Eli.”

“You _know_ h-how I feel about you, Mantis, p-please don’t do this to me. Don’t try to c-confuse me like this. I love y-you, that’s all, I just… I… f-fuck, Mantis…”

“Do you really think you can talk your away out of this?”

“I’m sorry,” Liquid repeated, “I’m s-sorry.” He could feel tears pricking his eyes, and he hated it.

Liquid felt sure he was on the verge of completely losing it and flying into an outright violent panic, but thankfully Mantis picked up on that. He drew back enough to give Liquid a little space to breathe, the hand not on his cock moving harmlessly down to his chest, and the hand _on_ his cock stroking gently now, with obvious intent to pleasure.

“You know the rules, Eli,” Mantis said, but his voice was warm and patient now instead of icy. “You know why I gave you these rules.”

“Ah… ah, o-oh, god… yes, Mantis, I-I know…”

“You know there’s only _one rule_ that is actually important.”

“Y-Yes… don’t get involved w-with Ocelot, yes, I- nnh— I know, M-Mantis, I’m sorry, i-it’s… difficult…”

“He can’t have you, Eli.”

“I, I know - I’m sorry, Mantis, I’m sorry—“

“You belong to me.”

“Yes, ahhh, yes, M-Mantis… I’m yours… please, p-please, oh god…”

Mantis’ hand started to move faster again, but it felt better this time since it was the _good_ kind of friction now. Liquid rocked his hips against him, moaning softly.

“Close?” Mantis murmured, leaning too near again and nudging Liquid’s ear with the filter of his gas mask, affectionately.

“M-Mhmn…!”

Liquid had learned long ago that it was entirely possible for an orgasm to be at least partially fear-induced. Whenever he fucked up this badly, he was reminded of that lesson.

But his relief was unspeakable as Mantis wiped his hand off and whispered in Liquid’s ear: “Enough then, Eli. I will always give you another second chance as long as you end the night with me…” He always did that. Forgave him. Somehow Liquid always expected he wouldn’t.

He was more scared of Mantis leaving him than anything else.

It took Liquid longer than it should have to get his breathing and heartrate under control, and he wasn’t sure if lying in Mantis’ lap and letting him pet his hair helped, or just made him feel more jittery. Maybe it didn’t really matter. The point was that Mantis wasn’t furious with him anymore - he’d doled out Liquid’s punishment, and Liquid had promised to at least _try_ not to give into the temptation to fool around with Ocelot behind Mantis’ back in the future, and now things could go back to normal.

Normal. Where Liquid and Ocelot were nothing else besides commander and subordinate, and the fact that they had been lovers back in ’94-’95 was completely irrelevant. _Mantis_ was the only one Liquid wanted or needed.

“Yes, Eli,” Mantis murmured, brushing hair away from his face. “That is exactly right.”

“I… I love you, Mantis…”

“I know. Good boy.”


	11. Character portraits

   
(Liquid per the end of  _Wherever I Go, I'll Make It Home_ ; Liquid at Outer Heaven) (Mantis at Outer Heaven)

  
(Liquid and Wolf at Outer Heaven)

  
(Gabir, h/t [blackorb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee))


	12. Fanart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart for chapter six of _Wherever I Go, I'll Make It Home_ , drawn by [FoxLoaf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxLoaf/pseuds/FoxLoaf)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned elsewhere, FoxLoaf is no longer talking to me for reasons unknown. But I had prior (tacit) permission to post this, so I'm having PP reupload it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @FoxLoaf:  
> 


	13. Wanting, Wanting, Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis says the wrong thing and Liquid has a _moment_.
> 
> Mature - implied Rape/Non-Con(?)  
> W/C 911

200X, FOXHOUND headquarters.

“Why do you make me choose between making you happy and keeping you safe?” Mantis whispered, staring down at Liquid from where he was sitting on his stomach, pinning him to the floor.

“I don’t,” Liquid said simply.

“You _do_. The second I try to institute some rules for your own good, you fuss about me being ‘paranoid’ and ‘controlling’, and give me no choice but to dress them up in this stupid sex game.”

Liquid scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Mantis narrowed his own. “And if I leave you to your own devices, you only get _hurt_. I cannot stand that, Eli.”

“What do you want from me, Mantis? I don’t actually need you to protect me or take care of me, I’m a grown man-“

“-who makes _horrible_ decisions as a matter of routine…”

“If you had your way, I’d be locked in a padded room somewhere and only you would have the key,” Liquid said with a strange smile.

“Have you forgotten, Eli? For your sake, I would do _anything_.”

Liquid’s strange smile widened. “You just want me for yourself,” he said hoarsely.

Unsettled by the dark turn in Liquid’s thoughts, Mantis pulled back - or tried to, Liquid caught him by the wrists, forcing Mantis to stay kneeling over him.

“Eli, what—“

“Wouldn’t that be good, Mantis? I’d be _safe_. No one could touch me, except for you. Oh, but,” he murmured, pressing one knee squarely between Mantis’ legs, pushing him forward so that Mantis’ wide eyes were mere inches away from his own, “wouldn’t that be _nice_ , Mantis, to have me all to yourself, to use at your convenience any time you like…”

“Eli,” Mantis started, somewhat nervous at this behavior, “I don’t-“

“Shh. You don’t have to deny it, Mantis, I don’t mind. You can hold me prisoner, tie me up if you like, do whatever you want to me but you want so badly for me to be safe and sound that I know you’d never hurt me… you’d be gentle with me…”

He started rubbing his knee up against Mantis’ crotch. Mantis drew in a sharp breath, gritting his teeth behind his mask, trying unsuccessfully to pull back again.

“Yes… chain me to a wall and make all my decisions for me… I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, all I would have to care about is pleasing you. What a nice idea, Mantis. I rather like it."

Liquid kept rubbing his leg against Mantis. Mantis’ whole body was tensed and he could feel a cold sweat almost on the point of breaking. “Eli, stop it,” he choked out.

“Isn’t it what you want, Mantis? Isn’t that exactly how you want me? Completely dependant and powerless? Unable to resist you, and only you?” He shifted underneath Mantis, craning his neck up and whispering in his ear: “You want to rape me.”

“Eli, _no_ —“

Liquid let his head fall back to the floor and let go of Mantis’ wrists — Mantis was standing in half a second, panting, stumbling back from Liquid, who was still lying on the floor and had started laughing feverishly.

“Don’t _say_ things like that, Eli.”

“Oh, but you’d be gentle!” Liquid tittered, “you wouldn’t _hurt_ me. And you wouldn’t let anyone who _could_ hurt me anywhere _near_ me.”

“You are completely misinterpreting everything I’ve said and done,” Mantis said, clenching and unclenching his hands frenetically, trying to will away the burning under his skin where Liquid’s body had come into contact with his. “I do not want you like _that_.”

“But it’s such an attractive prospect.”

“I do not want _anyone_ to _use_ you, Eli! You- you _deserve_ better than-”

“I don’t deserve anything better than what I’ve already got,” Liquid said, his delirious giggling finally dying down, as he turned his head away from Mantis and stared at the wall. His expression was neutral but Mantis could easily sense the self-loathing, despair, and resignation writhing inside him.

Mantis took a deep breath. He really didn’t like it when Liquid got in one of these moods.

“It is late, Eli,” he said, his voice deliberately calm and gentle, “let’s go to bed.”

“Mm.”

Mantis was already settled on the mattress for a few interminable minutes by the time Liquid bothered to get up off the floor and join him. Mantis sighed in relief, rubbing a thumb over Liquid’s cheekbone.

“I do not want to restrict you in any way, Eli,” he said, “what restrictions I do place on you are out of necessity.”

“Or for fun,” Liquid said.

“Or for playing along with your silly kinks, yes,” Mantis said. “But I do not want to _cage_ you. I would much rather be able to trust your judgement and not have to worry about you getting yourself into trouble.”

“You’ll never trust my judgement.”

“I… just do not want to see any more harm befall you, Eli. That is all. You have been through enough.”

Liquid sighed and leaned against Mantis, resting his head on his shoulder. “And how possessive you are…?”

“Just because I am quick to remind you that you are mine does not mean that I want you as some kind of slave, Eli.”

“Mmn… I kind of _do_ like the idea of you forcing yourself on me, Mantis, I’m not going to lie…”

“You worry me.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss against his neck. “But you can’t rape the willing, Mantis.”


	14. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid finally gets exactly what he wants.  
> Direct follow-up to "Wanting, Wanting, Wanting".
> 
> Explicit - mentions of past Rape/Non-Con, consensual simulated Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 12,811 (I know, I'm sorry)

200X, FOXHOUND headquarters. Wednesday.

“I got us some time off,” Liquid said brightly. “Four-day weekend. We can leave tomorrow afternoon.”

Mantis blinked at him. “How did you manage that?”

“Commandership has its benefits… and I’ve got all my work sorted, for once. Plus I agreed to give gratuitous holidays to the _other_ members of FOXHOUND at some point as well, so this isn’t just favoritism here…”

“I will make arrangements, then.”

Liquid didn’t often think about the fact that Mantis still had a _shitload_ of money in various bank accounts from his days as a psychic spy, but it was times like this that he was grateful for it.

Thursday afternoon they appropriated a car and left. Mantis insisted on driving, which Liquid thought was odd at first but shrugged and kicked back in the passenger seat, humming along to the radio. No one had to know that Mantis had never gotten a license and probably about 90% of his operating the vehicle was done via his psychic powers. If it worked, it worked.

Unsurprisingly, Liquid found himself nodding off after about an hour on the road, and when he woke up again sometime after nightfall, just passing the scattered outskirts of a small town, he had no idea where they were.

“That was my intention,” Mantis said, “but fortunately you falling asleep saved me the trouble of blindfolding you.”

“Ah,” Liquid said. He could feel a little shiver of nervous excitement and anticipation run up his spine at the prospect of Mantis not wanting him to know exactly where they were.

They pulled up in front of a small, old-fashioned house with an overgrown yard (although the rest of it looked decently maintained) that was, as far as Liquid could tell, several miles from any other kind of civilization. Before Mantis had actually shut off the engine Liquid was opening his door and jumping out - Mantis stopped him with a sharp psychic tug at his collar.

“Patience, Eli,” he said.

Liquid didn’t bother with words. He just whined at him.

But he cooperated with Mantis escorting him into the house (and making him carry the singular suitcase they had brought). The interior of it was extremely plain and largely unfurnished, except for necessities, and the bedroom that Liquid dropped the suitcase off in was tiny, completely dominated by the queen-sized bed shoved up against the wall. It looked comfortable, though, if a bit sterile from the fact that no one had obviously slept in it for at least several months.

“Where did you find this place?” Liquid said.

“It actually is not too hard to find isolated rental properties,” Mantis said, “but come. You haven’t seen the best part.”

There was a trace of sarcasm in the way Mantis said “best part”, but _why_ became obvious when Liquid actually saw it: it was the part of the house that Liquid had initially assumed was a garage, since it was attached but stuck out as if tacked on later, and instead of being a garage it was… some kind of large bathroom. Tiled from floor to ceiling inclusive, with a drain in the middle and hose-showerhead attached to the wall with no indication of curtains, it resembled a gigantic shower, and Liquid hazarded a guess from the steel loop embedded halfway up the wall and the bolted-closed exterior door that this had once been a room designed to wash animals. Large dogs, Liquid supposed. Anything bigger would probably just have been hosed down outside. And judging by the presence of a clearly somewhat newer toilet, sink, and wall-length mirror next to the sink, at some point the room had been half-heartedly remodeled as an _actual_ bathroom.

He turned back around to face Mantis, and he was now holding a length of rope with clips on either end that Liquid didn’t really question when exactly he had grabbed it.

“Would it ruin the whole set-up,” Mantis said dryly, “if I asked you if you would be needing pillows or blankets in here?”

“It’s plenty warm already,” Liquid smiled, his throat tight.

Liquid was summarily stripped down to just his collar, which was attached to the rope and therefore the wall. There was enough slack that he could easily reach both the sink and toilet, but not enough that he could make it to the door leading to the rest of the house. Mantis closed the door behind him, anyway, leaving Liquid naked and leashed to the wall to ‘settle in’ for the weekend. (It didn’t really matter that the door was shut, though - it probably would have if Liquid hypothetically needed to call out to Mantis for some reason, but if Liquid wanted something all he had to do was direct his thoughts towards him. Not that he intended on doing that.)

His whole body felt like it was tingling, and the cool tile against his bare skin was pleasantly unsettling as he laid on the floor, stretching out and carefully watching himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but think of the way he’d looked when he’d first been recovered from Iraq, thin and pale and wounded - but he looked very different now.

Really, the only distinct physical reminder of what had _happened_ was the upside-down-V-shaped scar on his stomach.

Liquid didn’t have a definite way to tell the passage of time in here, so he wasn’t really sure how long it was later that Mantis came in again, but nonetheless he grinned at him and stood on his knees in front of him, looking up almost pleadingly, biting his lip.

“Eli, you have the _oddest_ kinks,” Mantis said.

“Yet you still play along with them,” Liquid retorted, resting his hands against Mantis’ thighs and leaning forward to press his lips against his— Mantis stepped back. Liquid started to fall forward, but recovered his balance before he had to catch himself.

“Not right now, Eli,” Mantis said evenly, then sat in front of him, tucking his legs up under him. Liquid followed the move, sitting down as well, although he intentionally displayed himself a bit more than he really needed to. “We have all weekend.”

“We don’t _have_ to ease into anything.”

“I am more comfortable doing so,” Mantis said, reaching towards him, and Liquid shrugged and acquiesced. Mantis really was doing him a _huge_ favor here and he didn’t want to push it.

Mantis gave him a handjob, with his usual gentle murmurings that might have qualified as dirty talk coming from someone else, and Liquid was predictably driven over the edge when Mantis pressed the filter of his gas mask against his ear and whispered, “Spill your seed for me, Eli.”

Afterwards Mantis curiously asked him _why_ that was always all it took to make him climax.

“Ah…” Liquid said, catching his breath. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but now that he did he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Mantis ordering him to orgasm being a psychological crutch for him to actually _achieve_ orgasm. He didn’t _need_ him to do that, right? There had been plenty of occasions when he’d finished before Mantis gave him permission to do so. “It… you only say it when I’m already close, Mantis, and it’s ridiculously hot when you do, so…”

“So it just gives you that little extra push you need? …I see.”

It wasn’t until a few minutes after Mantis had left and closed the door again that Liquid realized how used he’d gotten to Mantis taking him to bed when they were done, if they hadn’t been in bed already (which to be honest, they usually weren’t). Nodding off on the floor after sex was something he’d done countless times before, of course - but years ago — he knew that Mantis scrupulously held to his own rule about showering Liquid with affection when the tension had drained, but, well, this wasn’t over. This was supposed to last for the next few days, until Monday afternoon.

Technically sleeping on the floor was a _part_ of it, and Liquid tried to convince himself that he really didn’t mind but to be honest, he felt he’d been a little spoiled. Almost spitefully he curled up, listening to the soft clink of the clip on the rope against the hook on the wall as he moved, and closed his eyes.

Friday.

The bolted-shut external door had a small window on it, which hadn’t been much help to Liquid earlier, but when he woke up again he could see the vague lightening of the sky that not only proved it was just before dawn but also indicated to him that the part of the house he was in faced east. He filed that information away out of habit, mostly. It wasn’t until the sun was just starting to be visible over the horizon when Mantis walked in the room again.

“Good morning,” Liquid purred, rolling over on his back and staring up at Mantis.

“Not too uncomfortable sleeping on the floor, were you?”

“I can’t complain. Now, when are you going to fuck me silly?”

Mantis rolled his eyes. “ _Patience_ , Eli.”

Liquid sat up, and scooted closer to Mantis, looking up at him pleadingly like he had the night before. “At least let me suck your cock.”

“…Eli.”

“Come on,” Liquid whined, “please, Mantis, I _want_ you to _use_ me—-“

Mantis huffed and fisted Liquid’s hair, tilting his head back. Liquid swallowed hard, with difficulty.

“Eli,” he said, “calm down. Suppose _I_ want you to be desperate?”

Liquid moved closer, pressing his groin flush against Mantis’ leg and bucking his hips slightly. “You _tease_ ,” he gasped.

“…all I’m doing is just standing here.”

Well, yes, but he was also pulling Liquid’s hair and letting him hump his leg. Still, Liquid _was_ getting impatient and frustrated - he didn’t even know where his clothes were and he actually had a _leash_ hooked into his collar, how could his baseline state of existence this weekend _not_ be perpetually horny and ready to get taken advantage of any time Mantis walked in the room?

But it seemed Mantis really did want to feed his desperation, and not long after that he left again without really touching Liquid. Liquid groaned loudly as Mantis closed the door behind him, then flopped onto the floor. At least the tile felt good against his heated skin.

He caught his own eye in the mirror again. He looked a little pathetic now - flushed and wide-eyed, with tangled hair - and he sat up again and looked up at where his leash was attached to the wall. It was a simple clip on both ends, there was nothing preventing Liquid was unlatching it from either the wall or his collar… except, of course, for the fact that he wanted to play this game, badly. Besides, this whole thing had been his idea, anyway.

Granted, the silence was a little off-putting.

And this wasn’t the first time he’d been chained in an isolated room, exposed and helpless, anxiously waiting for someone to come in and use his body like a toy.

Liquid chased the thought away despite the fact that he _knew_ that that was why this whole thing turned him on so badly, and laid back down, staring up at the ceiling. _This_ was very different. He was waiting for a _specific person_ to come back in and use his body like a toy, a specific person that he loved and trusted implacably. Not even with Ocelot would he be this comfortable indulging in his… riskier fantasies like this.

With nothing to do, Liquid waited about five minutes ( _felt_ like hours, though) before spitting on his hand, reaching down, and roughly pumping his own cock, biting the knuckles of his other hand out of habit.

It was partly boredom, mostly frustration, and absolutely a way to lure Mantis back into the room — masturbation was _against the rules_ , after all. Just as Liquid thought he would, Mantis reappeared - and it was very likely on purpose that Mantis showed up right as Liquid was about to hit the point of no return. Liquid would have liked to spitefully finish despite Mantis’ presence, but as soon as Mantis laid eyes on him Liquid found his arms psychically pinned to his sides.

“H-Hello there,” Liquid said breathlessly, wiggling his hips a little, hopelessly hard dick sticking straight up in the hair.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” Mantis said.

“Would it be- would it b-be pushing my l-luck to ask permission to finish, r-right now?” He squirmed. “I-I’m already really very c-close…”

Mantis only needed a single glance to tell Liquid that yes, it would be pushing his luck.

Liquid wilted under Mantis’ annoyed glare, and after a while, so did his erection. He whimpered. Out of all the punishments Mantis ever gave him, blueballing was what he considered the cruelest.

“You quite literally brought this one upon yourself, Eli.”

“I… I-I know…”

Mantis let him use his hands again, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position, his face burning. He should have known that was exactly how that was going to end - but at least he’d succeeded in getting Mantis to come back and talk to him. Denied sex, he still thrived on attention.

Mantis crouched down in front of him and took his face in his hands. “If you behave, I will reward you,” he said.

“With what?”

“You’ll see… if you behave.”

He stayed with Liquid for a while longer, then left again. Liquid wondered what he was doing in the other part of the house - reading, maybe? Certainly he didn’t have anything important to do. Liquid knew full well that the neglect was part of the game, of course. But still.

_Eventually_ Mantis came back, just when Liquid was starting to feel _very_ restless and jittery. He stood in the doorway while Liquid pulled his leash taut, whining against the collar constricting his throat, trying to get as close to Mantis as possible but still falling a few feet short.

Mantis closed the distance in one stride. “Kneel,” he ordered, threading his fingers through Liquid’s hair.

Liquid obeyed, stepping back a little at the same time, letting the rope go slack.

“Good boy.”

“Are you still trying to frustrate me?” Liquid asked, as Mantis sat down next to him and moved his hand to Liquid’s back. He shivered at the touch, still feeling terribly oversensitive from his earlier denial.

“I could if you want me to.”

“You _know_ what I want.”

He took in a sharp breath as he felt Mantis’ hand slip down to his ass, and noticed belatedly that, from the feel of it, Mantis wasn’t wearing gloves and had actually filed his nails. Liquid swallowed, his heart beating a little faster — this had only happened once before…

“This?” Mantis murmured, pulling Liquid’s face towards his with his other hand.

Liquid nodded slowly, eyes wide. “Yes,” he breathed.

Mantis’ hand on his butt disappeared and after half a second Liquid (who was practically holding Mantis’ eyes in tunnel vision) felt two fingers softly touch his bottom lip and he remembered _Oh right, Mantis likes lubrication_.

“Mhm. Get them nice and wet, Eli.”

Liquid wasted no time, taking Mantis’ fingers into his mouth and sucking on them as lewdly as he could, moaning deep in his throat and twisting his body so he was facing Mantis, grabbing his hips and pulling him close, still pressing his tongue against the intruding digits. Mantis spread his fingers a little, opening Liquid’s mouth, and Liquid let out a long, obscene groan, forcing his tongue into the space between Mantis’ fingers and hardly noticing the lines of saliva running down his chin.

“How enthusiastic,” Mantis commented, drawing his hand away after only about half a minute, then briefly glanced down. “…very enthusiastic.”

Liquid felt he couldn’t be blamed for getting hard again at that.

He was glad his back was turned to the mirror right now - he wasn’t _entirely_ sure he would have liked to see himself like this, naked and vulnerable, helplessly panting in the arms of a man who was still fully clothed himself. Liquid doubted he’d actually get to see Mantis nude at all this weekend, either. He had a delicate power imbalance to maintain, didn’t he?

“Oh, hush.”

Liquid whimpered as Mantis pushed the first finger up into him, his grip on Mantis tightening. He could almost hear Mantis’ mind buzzing about how he needed to be careful, that fingering Liquid could all too easily turn into having to stop everything and talk him down off a flashback…

“M-Mantis,” Liquid whispered, shifting his weight against his hand, “don’t s-stop, no matter what. Just k-keep going. Keep g-going even if I ask you to stop.”

“Eli,” Mantis said, “don’t ask me to do that.”

“P-Please… Mantis, I d-don’t want to ruin th-this, just- keep going—“ He took a deep breath. “M-More, please.”

For once he could be as loud as he wanted without Mantis shushing him, as Mantis inserted the second finger. He rocked his hips against Mantis, making some undignified high-pitched sound when Mantis found his prostate.

“O-Oh my _god_ , M- _Mantis_ —!!”

“Give me a minute to figure this out,” Mantis muttered.

In Liquid’s opinion he didn’t have much _to_ figure out. It already felt damned good. He easily gave into the temptation to rut up against Mantis’ stomach, whining, pushing back against his fingers. He wanted Mantis’ almost hesitant clumsy massaging to escalate, push against that spot harder, make him see stars.

Mantis obliged.

Later when Mantis was wiping Liquid’s semen off the both of them with a washcloth, Liquid nuzzled him exhaustedly, whispering his thanks against his skin.

“I am just glad you managed to keep it together the whole time,” Mantis said at length, “I did not want to be put in the position of… deciding whether or not to keep going while you panicked.”

“I would want you to,” Liquid said, kissing his jaw. “I don’t ever want to stop, not until we’re both thoroughly spent, Mantis.”

“Mm.” Liquid knew that Mantis knew that Ocelot had always ignored any flashbacks Liquid might have in the middle of sex, and would later claim innocence, saying he hadn’t noticed. Liquid was never sure whether or not to believe him on that point (he knew Mantis certainly didn’t), but either way he’d grown to enjoy, in some strange way, the frantic relief of simultaneously coming down off both an orgasm and a panic attack. “I just think…”

“If I want it, what’s the problem?”

“I… I am concerned about the _reasons_ why you want certain things, Eli.”

Liquid grabbed his leash and gave it sharp pull, eliciting a loud clank from where it was hooked to the wall. “You indulge me anyway,” he said pointedly. “You might as well not pick and choose.”

“…”

Again Mantis left, but at least Liquid, in his post-orgasmic state, was significantly less on edge and before long he had fallen asleep.

He woke up again to the smell of steak.

He sat up quickly, and waited not-so-patiently for a few minutes - his mouth watering, realizing only now that he hadn’t actually eaten all day and it was already rather late in the afternoon, judging by the window.

Liquid jumped up when Mantis opened the door, holding a hot plate of food, but after several long moments Liquid realized that Mantis wasn’t going to actually pass the threshold of the room until he sat back down, so he did.

“I told you, Eli,” Mantis said, placing the plate on the floor in front of Liquid and sitting cross-legged across from it, “ _patience_.”

So Liquid waited very patiently for Mantis to tell him he could eat, staring down at the plate with its large, juicy (half-raw, to be honest) steak and coarsely mashed skin-still-on potatoes with butter. He hadn’t been aware that Mantis could _cook_ , nor that he had gone to town to buy food for the weekend - must have done that earlier today, perhaps while Liquid was sleeping.

“Cooking is an important life skill,” Mantis said, imperiously cutting the steak into small pieces while Liquid tried to make sure the drool stayed in his mouth. “Even if I don’t often do it for _myself_ …”

“So when you were buying this,” Liquid said, licking his lips, “did you happen to mention to anyone that you were getting it _for_ a naked man tied up in your bathroom?”

“Why would I feel the need to tell anyone that?” Mantis said disdainfully, then speared one of the pieces of steak with the fork. “Open.”

Liquid’s face went red as Mantis fed him his dinner, bite by bite. God, this was humiliating, but he was hungry and… honestly… it _was_ kind of a turn-on, as much as he would have liked not to admit it… he tried to ease his embarrassment by doing his best to powerbottom his way through the meal, making overly-intense eye contact with Mantis and letting his lips pointedly linger on the fork every time it was put in his mouth, chewing slowly, swallowing conspicuously.

Sadly, Mantis was completely unaffected by his seductive displays.

And Liquid finished off the potatoes trying rather unsuccessfully to hide an erection with his hands.

“Cute,” Mantis said dryly, gathering up the plate and utensils and standing up. “I will be right back.”

“How long is ‘right’?” Liquid asked as Mantis left. He didn’t reply but he also didn’t close the door, so Liquid assumed not too long, and got up and took a long drink from the sink after flicking his ponytail out of the way.

“Better?” Mantis said from the doorway as Liquid wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Mhm.” Liquid turned towards him, beaming. “I’m ready for dessert.”

“…I can’t believe you just said that out loud. You have no shame, Eli.”

Liquid knelt expectantly on the floor, licking his lips again. Mantis sighed and stood in front of him.

“Fine, if you insist. …but I am not going to parrot your horrible line about ‘dessert’ back at you.”

“That’s fair,” Liquid said, quickly undoing Mantis’ pants. Mantis’ hands found their way to Liquid’s hair and tugged nervously as Liquid drew his dick out, shifting his weight on his knees. “No need to be anxious, Mantis…”

“Hn.”

He mouthed Mantis’ limp cock, looking up at him carefully, sure that Mantis could feel his devotion. Again Mantis’ fingers tightened against his scalp.

Just like how Liquid remembered it from last time, Mantis’ dick jerked to life and reached a state of what had to be almost _achingly_ hard before much time had passed at all. Liquid found it a little funny, actually, a little odd. Almost unnatural. Almost like Mantis had to use his psychic powers somehow to get aroused.

Mantis didn’t deny it, so Liquid just went ahead and assumed it might very well be impossible to Mantis to have gotten erect if _Liquid_ weren’t already. Again Mantis didn’t deny it.

Liquid didn’t complain, though. He was enamored with the salty taste of Mantis’ skin and the way his breath rasped unevenly through his gas mask.

“Mmmm…”

“E-… Eli…”

“Mmm, nm…” Liquid pulled his mouth off and looked up at him again, using his hands now. “D-Do you like this, Mantis?”

“Ah— yes,” Mantis said, startled, “you are doing a good job, Eli.”

The words went straight to Liquid’s dick. He busied himself again, sucking Mantis’ cock, humming and moaning against it - forcing it down past his gag reflex, choking on it, his vision going unfocused as Mantis’ hips twitched, apparently unintentionally.

“Oh… Eli…”

_I love this_ , Liquid thought dazedly, _I love you._

Mantis didn’t even comment as Liquid palmed his own dick, jerking himself off as he swallowed around Mantis, hitting his own climax a few short seconds after the salty, bitter flavor of semen exploded in his mouth.

Liquid pulled back, gasping, a string of thick saliva hanging between his lips and Mantis’ still-fitfully-hard wet cock for a moment before he licked his lips and swallowed hard, shivering.

“Th-thank you,” he coughed.

Mantis took half a step back and crumpled to the floor, breathing hard. Liquid crawled forward and pulled him close, nuzzling him and nipping at his earlobe, his mouth and lips still tasting and smelling of Mantis.

“Was that to your liking, Mantis?” he murmured, carefully tucking Mantis’ dick back in his pants and fastening him back up.

“Y… yes, Eli,” Mantis said, petting his hair, “good boy.”

“Are you alright?”

“Of course. Tired, perhaps.” He shifted in Liquid’s arms. “Too tired to deal the matter of you touching yourself right in front of me…”

“Ah.” Liquid smirked against his neck. “I’ll pay for that later, won’t I?”

“Pervert…”

After Mantis had left again (Liquid knew what he’d being doing _now_ , going straight to sleep on that nice big bed), Liquid rinsed his mouth out in the sink. As much as it delighted him to bring the notoriously asexual Mantis to orgasm, he really did hate the taste of semen.

While Mantis was sleeping he wanked again, because at this point he might as well, partly to the memory of what had transpired so far and partly to his own fevered speculations of how Mantis might punish him for jacking off. He went to sleep without bothering to clean himself up.

Saturday.

He woke up to dried semen from the night before being cleaned off his stomach by a damp washcloth wielded by an irritated Mantis.

“Um,” Liquid said, stretching awkwardly under him - his back was kind of starting to ache from sleeping on a hard floor — “Good morning, Mantis!”

“Good morning, misbehaver.”

“What do you want me to do today?” He hooked his arms around Mantis’ neck and leaned up to him, breathing over his ear: “Anything you want, Mantis, anything at all. I’ll take it and beg for more.”

“Let go of me.”

Liquid released him, uncertain now if Mantis’ annoyance was being exaggerated for the sake of play, or if Mantis was genuinely mad at him.

Mantis sighed, shook his head. “Of course it’s exaggerated, Eli. Do you think I _genuinely_ care about whether or not you touch yourself without my permission? I have more important things to concern myself with.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Well now, I’ve just ruined the mood, haven’t I?”

“You have.”

There was an awkward pause.

Then Mantis said flatly, “I really do not care about ‘the mood’, Eli.”

“Well, I do,” Liquid whined. “Call me some dirty names and berate me for wanking—“ he bucked his hips up against Mantis. “Please?”

“Ugh. Fine.” He pressed the filter of his gas mask against Liquid’s ear. “Whore,” he breathed.

Liquid shivered.

“Are you so addicted to orgasms, Eli, that you are willing to debase yourself that much just for a mediocre one? How pathetic of you.”

“Yes,” Liquid gasped, “y-yes, I am…”

“So driven by hormonal impulses… you barely deserve to be called human, Eli. Rather, you are some entirely different species of _slut_.”

“Yes, I’m s-sorry, Mantis… please, p-punish me.”

“But how should I do it?” Mantis said, sitting up. “I am open for suggestions.”

“Er,” Liquid said, blinking. He was never able to come up with any good suggestions - any time he tried, Mantis would dismiss it with “You would think of that as a reward.”

Mantis narrowed his eyes at him. “Nothing? You can certainly come up with ideas when you are _fantasizing_.”

“Ah… well…”

“Hm.”

It was then that Liquid noticed the bottle of lube Mantis had brought with him, and his heart shot up to his throat. Holy shit, was about to get an _ironic_ punishment? He’d only been dreaming about that since… well… since the rules had been instituted, which really wasn’t too long ago, now that he thought about it. But he’d been dreaming about Mantis fucking him for-fucking-ever.

“Do not get ahead of yourself, Eli,” Mantis said, but nonetheless he pushed Liquid’s legs apart and popped the cap off the lube.

Liquid squirmed in anticipation, and Mantis, after a second of considering his options, pulled on his hip, turning him onto his side. Liquid went completely still.

From here he had a really, _really_ good view of himself and Mantis in that mirror by the sink.

He covered his face with his hands almost instinctually. They hadn’t really done anything yet, and already it was unbearably embarrassing to see himself splayed and needy like this.

“…I should have thought to do this sooner,” Mantis said. “Put your hands down, Eli.”

“No.”

“I did not ask you if you wanted to. I told you to.”

Hesitantly Liquid lowered his hands, looking anywhere but the mirror. Almost like a reward for cooperating, he felt Mantis’ slick fingers between his asscheeks.

“D-Don’t waste time with preparation, Mantis,” Liquid said, staring determinedly at the wall, “just s-stick it in me. I can’t wait a-any longer, please.”

Mantis didn’t say or do anything for a moment, and Liquid mumbled “Please” again, then his whole body spasmed as Mantis roughly pushed him open with two fingers and he felt the head of Mantis’ cock pressing against - and slightly in - his asshole.

“O- _Oh_ -!”

“This will hurt a little,” Mantis said quietly, “but you asked for it.”

“Y-Yes, yes, I did! Please, M-Mantis…!” Lying on his side with one leg pushed up wasn’t exactly a great position for pushing back and forcing himself on Mantis’ dick, but he tried anyway. “M-M-More, p-please!!”

Mantis slowly pushed in, his breath hitching while Liquid moaned loudly (and triumphantly). Oh _god_ , he’d been waiting for this for so long, not just waiting, either, no, _working_ for it, actively trying for _ages_ to convince Mantis to give him a good dicking. Mantis had always refused, saying ridiculous things about how it was demeaning or degrading or he himself was too likely to lose concentration and hurt Liquid or whatever, but evidently this weekend was extreme enough that Mantis was _finally_ relaxing a bit about it.

“Come onnn,” Liquid whimpered, shutting his eyes and scrabbling against the tile floor, “d-don’t just _sit_ there, Mantis, f- _fuck_ me— give m-me a good, h-hard _pounding_ —-“

“I am letting you adjust,” Mantis said. “It will not hurt as much that way.”

“N-No, just _go_ —“ His asshole was already burning at being stretched, anyway, he wanted Mantis to just fucking tear him open.

“Eli,” Mantis said.

“ _Please_ —- _!!_ “

“Look at yourself in the mirror, Eli.”

“Nn…!”

Liquid almost refused to follow those instructions until a sharp tug at his collar kind of forced him to. He cracked open an eye and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw; it was even _more_ mortifying than just being on display. Sure, he was in the same incredibly exposed position, but somehow his arousal was just a touch more obvious - furiously blushing face, red swollen dick dripping pre-seminal fluid, chest rising and falling raggedly - and he was at a decent enough angle to actually _see_ where Mantis’ cock disappeared into his body.

“O-Oh my god,” he panted. “Oh my g-god, Mantis.”

“You are going to watch me fuck you,” Mantis said firmly, rolling his hips ever so slightly, and Liquid could see the way his legs trembled as he did that. “Do not look away.”

“Oh… o-oh… M-M-Mantis, oh…”

Mantis started fucking him, really fucking him, and between that and his wide-eyed staring at their reflection moving in the mirror, Liquid was absolutely positive that he wouldn’t last long.

“Not until I say you can, Eli,” Mantis said breathlessly.

“Oh— but- a-ah, Mantis, g-god, this is— th-this is—- _ah_ , mmn, gh _kkh, Mantis, g-god_ —!”

“Hold back until I give my permission.”

“I c-can’t,” Liquid stammered, “I-I can’t, please, th-this is too g-good, Mantis, oh, I l-love it… I love y-you, Mantis, _god_ I love you… please, h-harder!”

Unbelievably, Mantis actually responded to his plea, driving himself into Liquid a little harder, panting harshly. Liquid bit his lip, groaning - he knew he shouldn’t make any more physical demands on Mantis, the guy was as fragile as spun glass and already giving it his all, and besides, this was _more_ than good enough. Liquid didn’t give a shit about how good this sex was _objectively_ (he wasn’t sure that uneven, could-stand-to-be-deeper thrusts and no real touching outside of the weak grip on his thigh was all that great _objectively_ ), he almost felt like he was _high_ off the fact that it was Mantis doing this to him. _Mantis_. He thought this day would never come!

His victorious elation was obvious even in the mirror, and it was either tainted or purified by the absolutely shameless stupefied-by-pleasure expression Liquid wore. He wasn’t sure which. The humiliation of seeing that look on his face made his heart and his cock throb.

“God, Mantis, I-I’m so close, please, I c-can’t hold back, p-please, I _n-need_ to-“

“Hush, Eli…”

“Oh, I-I can’t, Mantis, a-ahh… it, it almost h- _hurts_ , Mantis, please, I’m s-so—“

He couldn’t finish his sentence. He orgasmed hard and loud, except it was… _different_ from normal, in a way he couldn’t really describe because it left him totally dazed and overwhelmed, staring at the mirror and watching Mantis continue to rail his limp, shaking body, and after a while he realized that he hadn’t actually ejaculated and was still hard and he could actually feel another orgasm building low in his stomach.

“H-H-Holy… Mantis, wh-what…?” he mumbled, swallowing hard.

“I think that was…” Mantis panted, “ah… a prostate orgasm, Eli. They’re… different…”

“Oh…”

He kept rocking his hips, eyes fixed on the mirror - specifically where his and Mantis’ bodies joined together. In a weirdly detached way he noted it was kind of gross. Mostly he just felt out of his mind with arousal, like an animal in heat, and the incoherent noises spilling out of his mouth certainly attested to that.

Sometime after he had _another_ two prostate orgasms right in a row, he heard the rasp of Mantis’ breathing change, and felt him start to pull out, and he clenched, whining loudly.

“F-Finish inside me, M-Mantis,” he demanded, breathing hard, his nails digging into his palms. “Fill m-me up. I want t-to feel it — I want to f-feel your seed deep i-inside me, Mantis.”

“E-Eli…”

“ _Claim me_ ,” Liquid whispered harshly, licking his lips.

Either that was all it took to convince Mantis or Mantis was too close to the edge to really protest, because he didn’t finish pulling out before he ejaculated inside of Liquid, who screamed and arched his back at the feeling. Then he did finish pulling out, and Liquid just felt so _empty_ and he could feel something trickling down his leg, which the mirror confirmed to be a bit of Mantis’ semen.

He writhed, rolling onto his back, animalistically upset at the idea of _losing_ any of Mantis’ seed to gravity.

“Mantis,” he gasped, raising his hips. “M-Mantis, please. I c-can’t stand this a-anymore. I’m— I-I’m going to go _insane_ , Mantis, p-please just—-!”

“Fine, fine,” Mantis said tiredly, leaning over him. He nuzzled his face, the fingertips of one hand brushing over his horribly neglected cock.

Fuck, it was _teasing_. Liquid growled ferally. But he didn’t have to worry, really, a few moments later he climaxed and- wow, that was a lot of semen.

“…i-is that… n-normal, Mantis?”

“…apparently,” Mantis said with a shrug.

Liquid stared at himself in the mirror. He looked as raw as he felt - he looked like he’d been ridden hard and hung out to dry, which, he supposed, he just had. Flushed, panting, trembling, erection fading, an absolute mess of bodily fluids.

How embarrassing.

“I am _exhausted_ ,” Mantis said, hanging his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Er… yes. I’m not surprised,” Liquid said, sitting up somewhat painfully. His ass felt a little… tender. “I am as well.”

“…I am going to go take a nap. Is that alright?”

“Of course it is. I think I’ll do the same thing.”

But of course it was very different for the two of them. Mantis went back to a nice bed, and Liquid laid down on the tile floor, out of the reflective range of the mirror, still sticky and filthy with semen. He _could_ wash himself off, he knew that (Mantis had actually left the washcloth from earlier in here, sitting on the edge of the sink) but… decided not to. Somehow it seemed more _appropriate_ to wait until everything had dried and he was all crusty and nasty and Mantis had to clean him off himself. He _would_.

Besides, the feeling of Mantis’ semen in his ass was exactly as exciting as Liquid had always imagined it would be. He was in his refractory period so he couldn’t get it up or anything, but still he idly fingered himself for a while, biting his lip and congratulating himself on finally getting Mantis to _mark his territory_ , before pulling out his semen-sticky fingers, staring at them for a moment, and resisting the frankly disgusting impulse to put them in his mouth and instead wiping them on his stomach. Then he dozed off as well.

Several hours of sleep was the first casualty of that weekend.

Liquid woke up with a scream caught in his throat, and his immediate impression upon waking up - collared, leashed to the wall, naked, alone in a practically empty room, feeling just-fucked and with semen all over him - sent him completely over the edge. He came to his senses only a few minutes later in a jolt of confusion, finding himself standing outside among the weeds.

He glanced behind him, putting a hand to his neck. Seemed as though he’d simply unclipped the rope from his collar, and had torn the bolts from the exterior door of his room (with his bare hands, judging by the way his nails were cracked and bleeding). And now he was blinking in the early afternoon sunlight, uncomfortably aware of how unnecessarily fast his heart was beating.

Great. And he’d been worried earlier about his PTSD ruining his and Mantis’ nice little sex-dungeon-getaway weekend off. He’d been right, apparently.

Jittery and confused, for some reason it didn’t occur to Liquid to just walk back into the bathroom through the door right next to him, and instead he circled around to the front of the house, where, in a fit of headache-induced distraction, he ended up crawling under the car and hiding there instead of returning inside. It was a decision that made perfect sense to him at the time.

He didn’t realize he’d spaced out completely until the front door slamming open startled him back to the world of the living. He heard rapid footsteps and a second later saw Mantis’ boots next to the car. He could hear him panting.

“Eli?” Mantis said anxiously.

“Mn?”

“What are you doing out here?”

“…” He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know what the answer to that even _was._

He heard Mantis take a deep breath, almost felt him probing his mind. “Do you want to come back inside?” he said gently.

“…with you?” Liquid mumbled.

“Of course.” He saw him kneel down beside the car. “Come here, Eli.”

Liquid hesitated for a little while, then, mentally shaking himself, crawled out from under the car, and Mantis helped him stand up. He felt a little faraway from the proceedings.

“You are filthy,” Mantis tutted softly. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

So Liquid was returned to the bathroom, although if Mantis was planning on re-attaching the leash he hadn’t done so yet. Instead Mantis closed the exterior door and turned on the shower, the showerhead detaching itself from its hook and floating unobtrusively in the air.

“How is the water temperature?” Mantis said after a moment, a psychic hand at Liquid’s wrist pulling his hand into the stream of water as Mantis picked up the washcloth from off the sink. He looked at it in such a way that Liquid imagined he was frowning behind his mask.

“It’s fine,” Liquid said, although it was a bit cold for his liking.

The shower knob squeaked as it turned slightly, and the water started to warm. Mantis carefully unlatched Liquid’s collar and set it aside - somehow it felt a little strange to Liquid to not have anything on his neck, like he really _was_ naked now - and excused himself for a minute, leaving Liquid to sit there and soak, dried semen and dirt being rinsed off his body.

Mantis returned quickly, soap, shampoo, and a fresh washcloth in hand, and sat down next to Liquid, hovering about an inch off the floor so he wouldn’t get too wet. He undid Liquid’s ponytail, letting his hair fall down around his face and get more efficiently soaked through by the shower-water.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured.

“…disappointed,” Liquid said at length. “I didn’t want to ruin this weekend.”

“Shh. You didn’t ruin anything.” He soaped up the washcloth and starting rubbing down Liquid’s skin, getting whatever hadn’t been rinsed away already. “I will admit I was hoping this would not happen, but only because I don’t like to see you distressed.”

“Nn.”

Mantis was intoxicatingly gentle as he cleaned Liquid’s body, carefully and _thoroughly_ , going so far as to coax Liquid into spreading his legs so he could clean his crotch and ass. Liquid found himself, for some reason, absolutely convinced that Mantis was about to flip him over on his stomach and nail him into next week any moment now. Mantis didn’t comment, and also didn’t do that.

When he was done with Liquid’s body he moved around behind him and washed his hair; Liquid closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly at Mantis’ fingers working against his scalp. It felt good. At this point he could hardly remember the last vestiges of his nightmare, only the feeling of being terrified, which in and of itself was rapidly leaving his system.

Mantis rinsed the last bit of soap off him and the shower turned off and returned to the wall. There was a momentary blast of heat, like standing in front of an open oven, and Liquid was dried instantaneously, his hair fluffing up slightly.

“…thank you,” Liquid said, putting his collar back on. “I needed that.”

“Mm. Stay put.” Mantis gathered the soap, shampoo, and washcloth, and left again, but returned only a minute later with a hairbrush and sat down behind Liquid once more and started combing his hair.

Liquid went slightly pink. Ordinarily he was a pretty big fan of having his hair played with, but… really…?

“What?” Mantis said.

“Er… nothing.” Under different circumstances he would have thought that Mantis washing and preening him would be more of a power thing - since as much as Mantis wouldn’t admit it, he _was_ into the power thing - but right now Liquid was reading nothing but affection and concern from his every movement.

Mantis pulled his hair back into his usual ponytail.

“Just because I had a… moment,” Liquid said, “doesn’t mean that this weekend has to end early, no?”

“Eli…”

“Because I want to keep going. I- I like this, Mantis. I know it’s a little close to the edge for your tastes, but I like this.”

“…”

He took Mantis silently re-clipping the leash onto his collar’s lead and then leaving the room, closing the door behind him, as his answer. Liquid grinned.

It was only a few minutes before Mantis returned again, this time with a sandwich. He let Liquid eat it by himself like a normal person, and afterwards Liquid convinced him to let him suck his dick again, this time _without_ the lame line about dessert. Which wasn’t particularly applicable when it came to lunch, anyway.

After Mantis left again, Liquid, with really nothing better to do, spent some time picking at his splintered nails and making them bleed again, but Mantis ended up putting a stop to that, returning to the bathroom and bandaging his fingers, telling him very sternly that his wounds had been too minor for either of them to really concern themselves with, but if he continued to exacerbate them then the whole weekend really _would_ be called off and they would just go back to the FOXHOUND headquarters early. There was also an implicit “and no sex for a week” threat, so Liquid was doubly sure to behave himself.

On three separate occasions before dinner, Mantis wandered back into the bathroom and _started_ touching Liquid all over, whispering to him and stroking his dick, but left before he’d gotten off, and only laughed when Liquid growled at his retreating back. Liquid was tempted to relieve his tension himself, but decided to play along and didn’t… although by the time dinner came around he was so wound up he could barely stand to _exist_ , the cool tile of the bathroom floor torturous against his sensitive skin no matter how he sat, laid, or even stood.

“ _Please_ ,” he whined as Mantis put down the plate and bowl and sat across from him.

“Patience, Eli,” Mantis said, “food first.”

“You hypocrite,” Liquid said as Mantis wound the spaghetti around the fork. “You have no right to nag me about eating when _you_ practically never do it yourself.”

“I do not need to as often as you do,” Mantis said, raising the fork. “Open.”

Liquid flushed angrily, but followed Mantis’ instructions. _Your_ weight _begs to differ, Mantis_ , he thought.

“Oh, hush. That isn’t relevant right now.”

Again Liquid tried to take control of the dinner service by eating as seductively as possible, and again Mantis responded only with impassivity. Liquid kind of wondered if he was just really bad at this (it certainly seemed possible), but then, Mantis had never shown any kind of reaction to any kind of erotic display Liquid had ever put on in an attempt to entice him. Well, any reaction other disgusted irritation or condescending amusement, anyway.

Besides, strawberries with cream was _supposed_ to be the cliché ’seductive eating’ food, right? Meaning that it was easy to do? So Liquid supposed that Mantis’ lack of being affected at _all_ was entirely on _him_.

“There,” Mantis said as Liquid deliberately licked a last bit of cream off his lips. “Now you cannot justify another stupid line about dessert.”

“Let’s just be direct, then,” Liquid said, and gestured to his erection. Mantis rolled his eyes.

Whatever Liquid had been expecting, it wasn’t really to end up standing on spread knees in front of the damned mirror again, and Mantis pulling on his ponytail to force him to keep his gaze fixed on the mirror when he carefully entered him from behind. Liquid could hardly believe his luck at getting fucked again, though, especially with Mantis’ face pressed against his neck, his panting loud enough through his gas mask that it might have drowned out Liquid’s moans if Liquid had been showing even a little restraint… which he wasn’t. He was loud.

“Such- shameful sounds, Eli—“ Mantis gasped, reaching around to stroke Liquid’s cock. Liquid bit his lip and groaned.

He was really glad his eyes rolling back in his head gave him a good excuse not to focus on that stupid, dazed, whorish expression on his face in the mirror.

Liquid finished first this time (likely because he was already hopelessly aroused going into it) and by the time Mantis followed, he was writhing and whimpering in overstimulation, his hands as tight as vices on Mantis’ wrists, clutching him just to hang onto _something_. Finally Mantis pulled out and Liquid sunk to the floor, gasping for breath, the cold hard tile almost _painful_ against his raw and heated skin.

“Th-that was amazing,” he wheezed.

“Are you sure you do not need a blanket?” Mantis asked breathlessly, fixing his pants.

“Mmm, yes… I’m good, Mantis…”

Nonetheless a moment after Mantis left he tossed a towel at Liquid before closing the door. Liquid wiped himself off, and, after an internal debate about how much it would ruin the mood, laid it on the floor sticky side down and curled up on it. Felt _so_ much better than just the bare tile.

He absent-mindedly stripped the bandages off his fingers and left them balled up next to the towel before going to sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night he woke up to Mantis standing about two feet away from him. Liquid quickly sat up.

“Ready for anything you want, Mantis,” he said, smiling, shifting his weight from side to side in anticipation. “Please, go ahead. Every part of my body is yours to use as you please.”

“I only came in here to throw away those bandages you left on the floor,” Mantis said.

“Oh. Ah.”

Now that Liquid thought about it, this would definitely be more fun with someone whose sex drive _didn’t_ essentially amount to a chore list assigned by his lover.

“Bored?” Mantis said dryly.

Liquid stood on his knees, scooting forward and grasping Mantis around his hips. “I want you,” he breathed, then pressed a kiss to his stomach.

Mantis sighed and gave in to Liquid, like he always did in the end. Liquid got a good rough face-fucking, although Mantis didn’t do a damn thing about _Liquid’s_ boner, leaving as soon as he was finished with nothing more than a “good boy, Eli” and an affectionate pet on the head.

Not wanted to be saddled with blue balls for the fourth time in twenty-four hours, Liquid just went ahead and took care of himself before he went to sleep again.

Sunday.

The next morning Liquid learned about the wonderful world of vibrating prostate toys.

Liquid was, somewhat understandably, a little uncertain at first.

“Are you _sure_ —“

“It is perfectly safe, Eli,” Mantis said, “and supposedly it feels good, too. Also, this is a remote-controlled model, so I do not even have to be in the room with you in order to torment you.”

“…fun.”

“Relax. I only intend on using this until lunch. I suspect you will have had more than had your fill by then…”

Still, spending all morning on something new and, as far as Liquid was concerned, extremely unusual was a bit daunting, considering Liquid’s current slightly nervous mental state. He clung to Mantis a touch too desperately as he shivered when Mantis slipped the toy in his Liquid’s ass. It was a little strange, somewhat less intrusive than anything else he’d previously had up there but still more than enough to have his undivided attention.

“Just this once I am going to give you permission to touch yourself,” Mantis murmured against his ear, “but I expect you to let the toy bring you to completion each time, not your hands.”

“Y-Yes, Mantis,” Liquid mewled.

He wasn’t mildly prescient like Mantis was, but nonetheless he saw an unfair amount of orgasm delay in his near future.

Mantis turned on the toy before he left the room, apparently just for the amusement of watching Liquid jump about a foot in the air the fucking _intense_ vibrations.

“B-Bloody _hell_ , Mantis—-“

“That is only the lowest setting,” Mantis said.

“I-It— w-wh-what?? The l- _lowest_ -?”

Mantis laughed and patted Liquid’s cheek. “I will be sure to _keep_ it on this setting,” he said.

He left Liquid alone to try and adjust to the (admittedly mild, Liquid just wasn’t accustomed to it) rumbling of the toy. He was so dazed by it that it took him about ten minutes to remember that Mantis had given him permission to touch himself, but for once he was forced to be gentle - teasing, almost! - with himself, since his usual uncaring jerks overwhelmed him when combined with the vibrations of the toy.

“M-My god,” he muttered to himself, biting the knuckles of his other hand, the leash clinking as he leaned back against the wall.

Every time he was teetering on the edge of climax, the toy would abruptly turn off and Liquid would have to chew on his tongue and dig his fingers into his leg to remind himself what Mantis said. It wouldn’t be until his arousal was just starting to subside that the vibrating would start up again and he’d end up hopelessly palming his cock and grinding against the floor once more. And every time he thought he was getting used to it, that it was starting to get just a little _boring_ and maybe he was even starting to go kind of numb, the vibrations would (very briefly) intensify, the toy evidently clicking up a setting for half a second, just enough to shock Liquid.

_You said you’d keep it on the lowest setting!_ Liquid internally yelled at Mantis.

_It is on the lowest setting_ , came Mantis’ falsely innocent reply.

_It wasn’t two seconds ago!!_

_My finger must have slipped._

After edging for what Liquid was _certain_ was several hours, Mantis finally allowed Liquid to orgasm. He slumped over, exhausted and overwhelmed, absent-mindedly continuing to rub his raw, softening dick with his fingertips as the stupid toy kept going. Liquid felt like his very bones were shaking.

“Ghh…”

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and had to look away again quickly, he looked so pathetic.

Liquid was half-unconscious and reduced to low, incoherent moaning and making very small circles with his hips, unable to bring himself to do anything about his returning erection (how many times had it been again? He was fairly certain he’d climaxed at least half a dozen times already, and he was shooting blanks by now), when the toy switched off again and the room door opened. Blearily he looked up at Mantis.

“Enough…?” Mantis asked, crouching next to him.

Liquid nodded weakly.

He let out a long breath, sprawling out on the floor as Mantis carefully tugged the toy out of him, then grabbed Mantis around the shoulders, dragging him down so he could kiss his forehead without having to crane his neck up so much.

“Th-that was good, though,” he whispered dizzily, “that f-felt very good.”

“Do you want me to take care of this?” Mantis said, placing his hand over Liquid’s cock. Liquid shuddered, and nodded again, panting in Mantis’ ear.

At this point the gentle familiarity of one of Mantis’ somewhat dispassionate handjobs was even more of a turn-on than the way he murmured to Liquid while he did it, telling him to relax, to not squirm so much, that he belonged to him, that his libido was out of control and he was lucky he had Mantis to keep him in check, and Mantis was lucky to have Liquid in general. It only took a few minutes for Liquid to orgasm again, moaning Mantis’ name.

Afterwards he forgot about lunch entirely and couldn’t help but fall asleep at Mantis’ feet.

He woke up alone in the middle of the afternoon. He was kind of hungry, but mostly lonely. Mentally he attempted to catalogue all the orgasms he’d had so far, but he’d lost track at some point and gave up on that quickly, instead lying on his back, kicking his legs up against the wall, and staring blankly at the ceiling.

About 45 minutes later, judging by the movement of the stream of light from the window, Mantis arrived with dinner, a bowl of soup. Smelled like vegetables.

“Hi,” Liquid said, tilting his head back to look at him upside-down.

“Starting to tire of all this?” Mantis said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Just waiting for you to come back,” Liquid said, sitting up, then opened his mouth expectantly, his cheeks pre-emptively turning slightly red. Mantis rolled his eyes and fed him his dinner. Liquid didn’t try to take control this time.

When that was done he got a drawn-out, very teasing handjob, with lots and lots of touching the _rest_ of his body as opposed to just his dick, and Mantis made him watch the whole thing in the mirror. The image of himself, naked and melting in Mantis’ arms, cock twitching and nipples stiff and red, leash attached to his collar and a stupid, _stupid_ blushing, almost tearful and drooling expression on his face, he was sure he was going to remember for the rest of his life… however long that was.

“I do like watching your mind turn to mush, Eli,” Mantis mused, rolling one nipple between his fingers. “It’s… adorable.”

“Mnngh— M-Mantis…”

“And the way you stutter when you are excited…”

“Nhh…”

“And how willing you are to submit to me.”

“I— I love y-you, Mantis…”

“Shh. I know.”

It seemed that the more times Liquid ejaculated, the more tired he got afterwards. Not that he didn’t typically feel a little sleepy and out of it immediately after orgasm or anything, but it was certainly getting to be more pronounced. Mantis only chuckled at his incoherent, exhausted mumbling.

“Get some rest,” he said, “I have a surprise for you tonight.”

Liquid didn’t need telling twice.

He thought he was going to have a heart attack when he found out that the _surprise_ was that comically oversized dildo from two or so months ago.

“That- _that_ thing again??”

“You told me to hang onto it,” Mantis said mildly.

“Er- well, yes, but—“

“Do you want it or not?”

Liquid cringed. “…yes…” he admitted.

Liquid knew he’d just bought a one-way ticket to overstimulation even when Mantis was still carefully preparing him with his fingers, gently reminding him that he’d already taken the thing down to the base before and had nothing to worry about, all he had to do was relax.

It did take a while for Mantis to help Liquid ease his way down the thing, although it was significantly easier than Liquid remembered it being the last time, and either way by the time he hit the bottom of it was he was sure he was just going to _die_ because it filled and stretched him so thoroughly.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Mantis said.

“R-Really, Mantis, if I m-move at all i-it really i- _i_ - _is_ going to sp-split me in two, M-Mantis, really, it will—“

“It will not, now stop complaining.” He rubbed a hand over the bulge on Liquid’s stomach where the dildo had displaced his organs, and Liquid shuddered, gasping. “You are perfectly fine.”

“Oh, g-god, Mantis, I swear I c-can feel it in my ch-chest-!”

“It only goes up to here,” Mantis said, still rubbing the bulge. “Now…” he moved around behind Liquid and picked up the pair of handcuffs that Liquid had previously noticed but not really acknowledged, having been too focused on that damn dildo. He pulled Liquid’s wrists together and neatly handcuffed them behind his back.

“Uh,” Liquid said, tugging slightly. “Wh-why do I need to b-be handcuffed, Mantis?”

“So you cannot pull yourself off of that thing.”

“I… er…??”

And Mantis left the room. Leaving Liquid kneeling there, impaled on the largest sex toy he’d ever seen, breathlessly aroused, arms secured behind his back and no real way of getting out of this situation on his own even if he wanted to.

Holy _shit_.

Liquid was almost afraid to move for quite some time, but eventually he rolled his hips, experimentally, and wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not as it felt like his insides were being rearranged by the toy. It was overpowering, and he couldn’t stop himself from whimpering and mewling despite being the only one in the room. (Although perhaps that was a better reason _to_ whimper and mewl.)

He rocked his hips slowly, fucking himself with the toy, frequently having to stop just to pant and try to focus on something else, the sweat beading on his skin or the cool biting metal of the handcuffs or the coarse towel under his knees or the soft clanking of the leash against the hook on the wall. He felt half out of his mind, and breathing was difficult — _god_ he was so turned on right now. So aroused by his goddamned helplessness.

After four or five times his self-fornication tipped him over the edge to a prostate orgasm, he stopped counting. The sun had gone down by the time he was simply too far gone to even move anymore, just sag where he was kneeling and concentrate on breathing and staying conscious. Mantis returned soon after Liquid’s surrender.

“Had enough?” he said, slipping his fingers under Liquid’s jaw and tilting his head up to look at him.

Liquid just moaned low in his throat. This was even worse than that vibrator.

Mantis nuzzled him, uncuffing his hands, then used his psychokinesis to lie Liquid down. Liquid half-heartedly bucked his hips, pretty much just on tired instinct, when Mantis started pulling that stupid dildo out - Mantis placed a hand on his thigh, gently telling him to sit still until he was done.

Last time Liquid had used this toy (okay, last time Mantis had used it on him), he had basically fainted when he climaxed, but this time he could more appreciate how stretched and loose and _empty_ he felt now that the dildo was gone - like something was _missing_ , like something was _wrong_ now that he no longer had something in his ass pushing his body to its logical limits. He rolled his hips again, hands weakly grasping the towel beneath him.

“Mantis,” he breathed, almost light-headed with arousal, “p…please…”

He felt Mantis’ fingers run around the outside of his hole, then easily slip in just a bit, rubbing his walls. He made a little choked sound. God, he was _gaping_.

“M-Mantis, look at me… you’ve r-ruined me…”

“…?“

“Y-You’ve completely wrecked my arse, Mantis, look a-at that, it’s all st-stretched out and _ruined_ …”

“Eli,” Mantis started, withdrawing his fingers.

“Keep going,” Liquid whined. He turned his head to the side, pressing his cheek against the cool tile. “K-Keep going.”

Mantis’ fingers slipped back in, and at the same time Liquid gasped as he felt a soft touch on his aching dick.

“You’ve r- _ruined_ me,” he repeated dazedly. “I c-can’t… Mantis, I-I can’t…”

“Shh,” Mantis said, “your body will return to normal within a few minutes.”

What Mantis said didn’t quite register with Liquid; between the haze of pleasure and feeling of being too stretched out and loosened to even clench around Mantis’ fingers properly, and the previous overstimulation and exhaustion, and just the general ‘deliberately playing too close to the edge’ mood of the whole weekend… Liquid was inconsolable. He rocked his hips against Mantis and clutched at the towel he was lying on, but his breath kept catching, his eyes shut tight.

Right as he passed the point of no return the first tears spilled over. He ejaculated with a chest-heaving sob.

Liquid couldn’t stop himself, crying and gasping almost hysterically, suddenly finding the energy to scramble away from Mantis, not wanting to be touched — tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat up, his body aching, ineffectually wiping at his face, absolutely humiliated by his own pitiful behavior. But he just couldn’t _stop_ himself.

“Eli,” Mantis said, “it’s alright.”

Liquid shook his head.

“Hush, hush,” Mantis said, holding out a hand. He waited patiently for Liquid to cough, rub his eyes again, then lean into Mantis’ touch, nuzzling his palm. “Everything is alright, Eli,” he said, softly wiping away his tears. “Nothing to weep about.”

“…my head h-hurts,” Liquid mumbled hoarsely.

“Mm. Come here. …good boy.”

Liquid let Mantis pull him into his lap and keep wiping his tears, sometimes brushing his fingers through his hair… by degrees he calmed down, although he still felt awful and jittery and every time he opened his mouth to say something in his defense he would find that he hadn’t succeeded in pulling himself together as well as he thought he had and all that would come out was an incoherent stammer and a choked sob.

Mantis unclipped the leash from his collar. “Shh, Eli. Deep breaths.”

“Mnn… Mantis…”

He very carefully, and very gently, cleaned Liquid’s body of sweat and semen and lube, then murmured, “Can you stand?”

Liquid nodded - although, upon standing, he felt kind of bowlegged and weak-kneed, but that certainly wasn’t the only reason why he clung to Mantis now. Mantis escorted him to the bedroom and deposited him on the bed — and Liquid, naturally, knew that the whole thing was over now. Especially when Mantis laid down next to him and snuggled up close, letting Liquid hold him too tightly around the middle, and ran his fingers through his hair, murmuring “Hush now, there… good boy, Eli… good, there you go, everything is alright” to him every time his chest hitched and a few more tears slipped out.

He was satisfied.

Monday.

“Mantis… I know I threw my toothbrush in with the rest of luggage, where did you put it…?”

“The bathroom attached to this room,” Mantis said, brushing a few strands of hair out of Liquid’s face (he’d just sat up and had _horrible_ bedhead that he couldn’t quite bring himself to care about considering it had just been the first time since Wednesday night that he’d slept on something soft). “On the sink.”

“Mm. Thank you.”

The bathroom attached to the bedroom was evidently designed by someone who took the ‘closet’ part of ‘water closet’ a little too literally, but Liquid didn’t mind cramped spaces and he returned to bed within ten minutes, feeling _much_ better with a clean mouth and combed hair. (Although, at some point he really _should_ put on clothes.)

“I was worried you might still be… on edge,” Mantis said. “You can be so hard to read sometimes…”

“Oh, no,” Liquid said, drawing him close and nuzzling him, then kissing his neck, “last night was very cathartic, I thought.”

“I see.”

Liquid grabbed a meagre handful of Mantis’ butt and squeezed affectionately, kissing his jaw now, and Mantis sighed. “You will never be sated for long, will you?”

“With you around…? Mm, no. One last time before we pack up?” (The clock on the wall said 11:36, so Liquid had slept in quite a while.)

“I… I’m not sure, Eli…”

Liquid drew back a little, with an exaggerated pout on his face. “Oh, come on. We’re on a bed now, not a hard floor, and I’m not attached to a wall. I promise I won’t cry this time.”

“…”

“…fine, fine, if you don’t want—“

“No,” Mantis said, “it is alright, Eli. If you want me that badly.”

Liquid perked up.

“Just…” Mantis started unlatching the straps of his gas mask. Liquid blinked in surprise; now that he thought about it, the rental property _was_ more than three miles away from literally anyone else, but he hadn’t been expecting this at all… “I think we should do it… _properly_ this time.”

“Oh,” Liquid breathed.

Mantis had let Liquid see his face only on a handful of occasions, and only before they had parted ways for the KGB and the SAS respectively. He hadn’t seen it once in all these years since then - Liquid had just chalked it up to being one more thing that had changed about Mantis after that whole serial killer incident, his vague insecurity about his appearance turning into outright hatred. Even now he seemed uncomfortable to have his face showing, even though he _had to know_ that Liquid didn’t find him repulsive, not at all. Maybe he had at _first_ , when he was _kid_ , but right now he honestly felt… unspeakably blessed to look upon him.

He took Mantis’ face in his hands. “I love you,” he said.

“I know,” Mantis replied, not really looking at Liquid’s face, uneven patches of blush spreading across his face. Liquid kissed him on the lips, smiling to himself.

He’d never done that before.

And maybe the rings of stitches felt a little weird against his own lips, but Liquid couldn’t recall ever being happier.

At least, that is, until he started pawing at Mantis’ clothing, and Mantis _actually_ _let him_ undress him. Liquid had certainly had plenty of opportunities to feel up Mantis (at least for a little while, until Mantis got annoyed and told him to stop), but never his _bare skin_. That he’d never seen at all. Wasn’t really too different from how he expected it, though - visible ribs and prominent spine and sharp-as-knives hipbones, pale skin with scattered burn scars on his lower back and legs, and a long Y-shaped scar down his front that was faded and stretched-looking, clearly a childhood scar not unlike the ones on his face. And of course Liquid had seen his dick before. Recently. But still.

“Would it be ridiculous of me,” Liquid said, running his hands up over Mantis’ sides, “to call you beautiful?”

“Yes,” Mantis said firmly, drawing in on himself awkwardly, like he was trying to cover his exposure.

Liquid caught his hands and pulled them away from his body, pushing Mantis back on the bed and kissing him again, this time working his tongue into his mouth. It was actually kind of funny, with the way Liquid was used to Mantis dominating him, how uncertain and clumsy Mantis seemed now, how almost… _shy_ he seemed. _Vulnerable_.

Mantis cleared his throat. “The only other times someone has seen me nude have been for medical reasons,” he said, cheeks pink, still not quite looking Liquid in the eye.

“It’d be nice if I could say the same thing,” Liquid quipped, straddling Mantis. He leaned forward to kiss him deeply again, then moved down his body, kissing his jaw and neck, shifting himself backwards to get at his bony shoulders and jutting clavicles, licking and sucking on his flesh — “No hickies,” Mantis ordered nervously.

“Of course, Mantis,” Liquid murmured against his skin. “Anything you desire.”

He continued, and smirked as Mantis turned his head to the side, clearly biting the inside of his cheek, his arms reaching up reflexively to scrabble frenetically at Liquid’s shoulders.

“By the way,” Liquid said, “don’t use your psychic powers to give yourself an erection, however you were doing it.”

“…hm?”

“I want to get you hard _myself_ ,” he said, moving back again so he was sitting on (okay, mostly kneeling over, he didn’t want to put his full weight on Mantis) Mantis’ thighs, leaving Mantis’ hands to clutch the sheets of the bed.

Mantis watched warily as Liquid brushed his hands down Mantis’ stomach, over his hips, and his shallow chest seized briefly with Liquid reached his cock and balls.

“Alright,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning his head back. “Go ahead.”

“Mmmm.”

It took a little longer to give Mantis an erection than ‘usual’, and even then Liquid was having a difficult time getting it more than half-hard, but at least he heard the way Mantis’ breathing got deeper and more ragged. That was different, of course, since it wasn’t being amplified by the filter of his gas mask, but still perfectly noticeable as far as Liquid was concerned, and he kind of suspected that the sound of Mantis’ heavy breathing on its _own_ would _probably_ be enough to give he himself an erection.

Not that he didn’t kind of already have one from stripping Mantis down to nothing, but it was an interesting idea nonetheless.

“Oh, _hush_ ,” Mantis said, resting one forearm over his eyes, “don’t think things like that, Eli.”

“What’s the problem?” Liquid said innocently, playing with Mantis’ foreskin.

“Gh…”

Liquid was thinking about how he really didn’t need to prepare himself, probably, not this morning anyway, and while Mantis didn’t argue with him on that point he still pointedly tapped Liquid on the side of the head with a floating bottle of lube.

“Ahh, thank you,” Liquid said, grabbing it and immediately slicking Mantis’ cock - he couldn’t wait any longer, dammit - and Mantis’ whole body sort of jerked.

“That’s- _cold!_ ”

“Er… yes?” Liquid said. He supposed that Mantis hadn’t put it directly on his dick either time he’d already fucked him this weekend, just smeared more than enough of it around Liquid’s ass and let _him_ deal with the wet chill. “It won’t be for long, Mantis.”

“…ah…”

Liquid recapped the lube, tossed it in the general direction of the suitcase, and repositioned himself over Mantis, biting his lip for a second before lowering himself down on him, groaning as he felt Mantis’ cock sink into his ass (it kind of burned) - and especially as he felt Mantis grab at his hips.

“O-Oh, god, Mantis— I love you…”

“Eli…”

What Liquid really wanted to do was bounce up and down on Mantis’ dick until he couldn’t breathe anymore, but okay _fine_ his whole body (his asshole in particular) was still sore from all his exertions the past few days and he elected to take it slow, with shallow, languid thrusts — nice and gentle and sweet, just how Mantis apparently liked it. He almost seemed to be getting into it, taking Liquid’s hands and kissing his cracked nails as he rode him.

It was… really good.

Especially leaning down and french-kissing Mantis while he rolled his hips against his. That was _really good_.

Liquid actually managed to draw it out for quite a long time, but eventually Mantis finished inside him and Liquid, practically high on the feeling of Mantis’ semen in his ass once more, starting babbling incoherently, begging for Mantis to tell him to cum — Mantis grabbed him around the head, pulled him down, and whispered against his lips: “Go on, Eli. Spill your seed. Do it for me.”

He moaned loudly into Mantis’ mouth as he did.

“Good boy, Eli,” Mantis murmured almost absent-mindedly as they caught their breath, “good boy…” Liquid pulled himself off of Mantis, kissing him again - but softly this time instead of trying to shove his tongue down his throat.

“You should go shower,” Mantis said, wiping sweat off his face tiredly.

“You can if you like,” Liquid dismissed him, “I’m going to get dressed and _enjoy_ the way you claimed me.”

Mantis rolled his eyes but he didn’t argue. By the time he got out of the shower, Liquid had taken it upon himself to make breakfast for both of them despite it already being past noon. While Liquid had never claimed to be a good cook, really the omelettes came out at least halfway decent, if the burned parts were ignored - and thankfully Mantis kept his mask off, for now at least, and ate with Liquid, which Liquid couldn’t exactly remember the last time that had happened.

Of course, he only ate maybe a third of his omelette, but it was the thought that counted, right?

He let Liquid kiss him one last time, and then ignored his grumbling as he put back on his mask. After Liquid had re-packed the suitcase and thrown it in the back of the car, Mantis sat down in the passenger seat and said, “You drive. I want a nap.”

“I don’t know where we are,” Liquid said, but took the keys and got behind the wheel anyway.

“Just head West until you recognize something.”

And so they finally headed back to the FOXHOUND headquarters, with Mantis curled up fast asleep in the passenger seat, and Liquid still getting a bit of a thrill from the sticky slickness in his underwear every time he shifted his weight.

That night.

Liquid was just exiting the showers, half-dressed and toweling off his hair, when he ran into Ocelot in the hallway. Ocelot raised an eyebrow at him.

“I heard you’ve had quite the spring in your step all afternoon, boss.”

“Ah, yes,” Liquid said, grinning at him. “I’ve just had the greatest weekend of my life.”

“Mm. Finally got a good dicking from Mantis, have you?”

Liquid flushed at how bluntly Ocelot put it, but shrugged anyway, smirking knowingly.

“That’s good,” Ocelot said, “I thought he might do that if I got under his skin enough.”

“…wait. Is _that_ why you kept antagonizing him during the-?”

Ocelot shrugged this time. “I knew you weren’t being satisfied. It was the least I could do.”

“Oh. Well.”

Impulsively he grabbed Ocelot by the collar and kissed his mouth.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

And then he left quickly, leaving just the lingering scent of his fussily expensive shampoo. Ocelot stood there for a while longer, touched his lips ponderingly, and wondered exactly how badly Mantis was going to blow up at Liquid for kissing Ocelot.

Not that it was any of his business.


	15. Memes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for a big fat useless update? :^) dw, PP will be posting actual fic later, as promised.
> 
> (i'm more or less holding off on memes for things i haven't reuploaded yet but uhhh i'm not gonna be too concerned about spoilers cus most of you read this series befroe it got taken down in the first place..!! -pp)

  
(h/t [Brambora](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambora/pseuds/Brambora))

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(created for [_As You Say_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13371939), which Make It Home was the spiritual successor to)

  
(h/t [blackorb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee))

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t Brambora)

   
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(based on a comment blackorb made)

  
(h/t Brambora)


	16. Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ROXIE**  
>  Forget it, it’ll never work.
> 
> **VELMA**  
>  Why not?
> 
> **ROXIE**  
>  ‘Cuz I hate you.
> 
> **VELMA**  
>  There’s only one business in the world that’s no problem at all.
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 1,809

1990, Moscow, the Lubyanka.

It was rare that Ocelot put in proper appearances at the KGB - he was too busy, really - but when he heard that they had gotten ahold of a _psychic_ from somewhere over (what used to be) the Berlin Wall, well, this he _had_ to see.

All things considered, he wasn’t too surprised to see a tall, skinny teenager with a lot of wavy bright red hair and a bug-eyed gas mask. Who seemed oddly relieved to see him.

“ _Bogomol_ , huh,” Ocelot said.

The kid nodded, somewhat hesitantly. Almost shyly. Was he shy…?

“Got tired of being called _rebenok_?”

“Eli called me Tretij for a long time, like it was my given name,” he said in a (seemingly naturally) quiet voice, “but then he found out what it actually meant, and felt rather silly about it, so we came up with a new name.”

“That being Bogomol,” Ocelot guessed.

“ _Mantis_ , actually,” Bogomol said, saying the word in lightly accented English, “but I thought it made sense to change it to Russian since I came back to the USSR.”

Ocelot nodded slightly. “And I suppose you walked right up to me because I’m the first person you’ve seen since coming here that you actually recognize.”

Bogomol fidgeted. “Not the first one,” he said, his already small voice getting even smaller.

Ocelot didn’t find out what he meant for another few hours, when a researcher who had evidently been visiting that morning was found in a toilet stall, drooling and insensible - his mind completely gone, reduced to the level of a newborn baby or a dumb animal.

“He was from the Leningrad University of Parapsychology,” Ocelot said without preamble, leaning against the doorway to the tiny, bare office they had given Bogomol.

Bogomol shrunk in on himself. “Yes,” he whispered. “He recognized me. He was going to say something.”

“Send you back?” He stepped in, shut the door behind him so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“I don’t _want_ to go back.”

Ocelot raised his eyebrows. Quite the will on him after all… the natural result of aging, or a lasting side-effect of parasitizing headstrong little Eli back in ’84 (and who knew how long onwards)? That remained to be seen. “I’m not about to fault you on your reasoning, but you can’t go around attacking comrades like that.”

“No one will know it was me,” Bogomol said, “as far as anyone knows, I’m only telepathic and I don’t have any other powers. I could never do something like that.”

There was a pause. Bogomol looked at Ocelot expectantly.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Ocelot said at length.

“I don’t like you, you know,” Bogomol said, almost as if he were replying, if only what he said fit in at all with what Ocelot said. “I can’t read your mind at all, I’ve never been able to. There are a lot of people like that here, with those funny implants - but you, I think it’s just the way you are naturally. I can’t trust you.”

“What’s trust have to do with anything?”

Again, a pause.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut about your other powers, and what you did to Nauchenko,” Ocelot said again.

“…thank you.”

Ocelot scrutinized him. Bogomol kept his gas mask pointed towards his lap, his hands twisting frenetically in it.

“What’s Eli up to?”

Bogomol looked up. Seems the subject of Eli caught his attention.

“I heard a rumor that some kid matching his description managed to weasel his way into the SAS - any merit to it?”

“I think so,” Bogomol said, “that was his plan.”

“You two still in touch?”

Bogomol looked at his lap again. “We planned on it,” he said. “To write to each other, I mean.”

“Trouble getting letters out?”

He nodded.

Ocelot sighed. “I’ve got some friends-of-a-friend in the SAS. I can get an open channel for both of you, so to speak - the censors won’t bother with your letters, coming or going, once I’m done.”

“…? You can do that?”

Ocelot spread his arms and shrugged. “I’ve been in the KGB since it was founded,” he said, “I can do anything.”

Again there was a brief pause, this time as Bogomol apparently did the math in his head. “Wait, that would mean you started here when you were-“

“Ten? Yes. Nine, actually, my birthday hadn’t passed yet. But no younger than you when you were following Skull Face around… at least according to your records.”

Bogomol didn’t reply. Ocelot more than suspected the age on his records (fifteen) was a complete assumption, of course. He’d taken a peek at them and he hadn’t missed the way Bogomol’s birthday was _conveniently_ the same as the twins’.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Bogomol said abruptly, and although his voice was as neutral as ever, his suspicion was obvious in every restless, anxious movement of his little body in his chair.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” Ocelot said, “this is an arrangement of convenience.”

“I don’t want to owe-“

Ocelot held up a finger for silence. “I don’t make a habit of holding debt from children,” he stated. “I would simply prefer it if you stay in the KGB, at least until this burning house of a nation finally collapses in on itself. To that end I’ll try to make you as comfortable here as possible.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like loose ends, which is what you’ve been for the past six years. And with you at the KGB, I more or less know where you are and what you’re doing at all times.”

“I see,” Bogomol said. If he was put off at all, then he didn’t show it. It seemed he was content to accept Ocelot’s good graces, despite his mistrust and Ocelot’s reasons for offering his hand.

What Ocelot didn’t tell him, partially because he assumed Bogomol would figure it out on his own, was that he wasn’t the only loose end being caught hold of here. By putting him in contact with Eli, Ocelot would bring under at least partial observation one of the _biggest_ loose ends as far as he was concerned - the frequently AWOL product of Les Enfants Terribles. News of him had been scarce ever since he was found alive in America following the collapse of the Kingdom of the Flies, and while he could certainly have an eye kept on him in the SAS, it wouldn’t be by Ocelot. Why, Ocelot would be almost out of the loop! So it was only natural, really, that he should tie up _that_ loose end with the one that had been practically dumped at his feet.

To that end he increased the frequency of his visits to the KGB, although usually it mostly meant using his office in the Lubyanka to work on reports and paperwork for his _other_ positions with _other_ organizations. Bogomol, who still professed to dislike him, would always drop by and chat, simply because he was a nervous boy who couldn’t communicate with his coworkers and Ocelot was the only one here he already sort of knew.

Not very long after their initial reunion (if it could really be called that, it wasn’t like Ocelot had had any direct interaction with the boy back in ’84 outside of occasionally seeing him out of the corner of his eye), Bogomol edged into Ocelot’s office, twisting a sheet of paper in his hands, and carefully closed the door behind him.

“Problem?” Ocelot said without looking up from his own papers.

“…can you tell me what this says?”

Ocelot looked up. It was a perfectly normal communiqué that Bogomol was holding out to him.

“Can’t you read it yourself?”

“…”

Ocelot sat back in his chair with a huff. “You can’t read,” he said.

“I _can_ ,” Bogomol said, snatching the paper back and pressing it to his chest, almost defensively, “some words.”

“Really.”

“But I haven’t seen some of these words before, so I don’t know what they say.”

Ocelot gave him an even look, twirling his pen in one hand, then pulled out a blank sheet of paper. Very carefully he wrote down _Богомол_ , then spun the paper around and slid it across the desk towards Bogomol. “Can you read this?”

“That’s my name,” Bogomol said, peering at it.

Ocelot took the paper back and simply wrote down _Б_. He showed it to Bogomol again. “What letter is this?”

“…it’s the first one in-“

“What _letter_ is it, Bogomol?”

He stared at the paper for another few seconds, then looked away, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“I see what your problem is, then,” Ocelot said, scrunching up the paper he’d just been writing on and tossing it into the trashcan by his desk. “Your idea of ‘reading’ is that you associate certain shapes - or how certain combinations of letters look - with certain words, when what reading actually _is_ is associating certain shapes - that is, the letters themselves - with certain _sounds_.”

“That sounds like what Eli said when he was teaching me the English alphabet,” Bogomol said, staring at the floor.

“Ah, so you know that much? Good, that should make it easier to learn Cyrillic.”

There was a long pause.

“You’re not sure you can learn it on your own, are you?” Ocelot said dryly.

Bogomol shook his head.

“Fine, I’ll teach you. In the meantime, run your correspondences here through me. I’ve got more clearance than even Kryuchkov, so you won’t get in trouble for it.”

So it went. As far as everyone else in the KGB was concerned, Ocelot and Bogomol were friends - and popular opinion was that Ocelot was a kind of father figure for Bogomol. Bogomol never spoke up against the rumors although they irritated him, and Ocelot considered them not worth his time — they were useful, even, covering for the fact that he was coddling Bogomol just to keep him in line. Not that he had to do much. Just teach him to read and write Russian, keep the letters between him and Eli flowing smoothly, and meddle on his behalf when other researchers from Leningradsky Universitet Parapsykology came sniffing around, wondering just how much Bogomol really did match the description of the Third Child who had gone missing after a plane crash six years ago.

_Completely different kid entirely_ , was the conclusion they came away with after Ocelot’s timely intervention. _Nothing this one has that hasn’t already been researched to death._ And so Bogomol was left entirely in peace, as long as he was careful to only read minds in front of everyone else - which, naturally, he was.

If Bogomol was ever scared of how much he owed Ocelot, Ocelot couldn’t tell with the rest of his perpetual skittish fear of the world at large.


	17. Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bogomol has a terrible nightmare.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - implied Underage  
> W/C 4,540

January 1991, Moscow.

When Bogomol failed to show up to work for several days in a row, _somehow_ it seemed only natural that Ocelot would be dispatched to check up on him and make sure he hadn’t fled back to the West or something. Ocelot internally grumbled, scoffed, and rolled his eyes when asked to do it, but externally set off without a single hint of a complaint - after all, a troubling amount of KGB agents and employees were under the impression that Ocelot and Bogomol had some kind of father-son relationship, when in reality their so-called “friendship” was only one of convenience; Bogomol disliked and distrusted Ocelot, but tolerated him and was willing to take advantage of his apparent kindness, and Ocelot… really just felt _bad_ for the kid, but wasn’t one to let feelings get in the way of his work. (Romantic proclivities notwithstanding.)

The block of flats where Bogomol lived was like every other Soviet block of flats in the sense that it really lived up the word _block_. Dirty and austere, brutally cutting into the space around it, and Ocelot quickly found the apartment number given to him, disinterestedly noting as he walked by that all of the apartments seemed to be identical to one another. He knocked on the door.

No answer.

Ocelot heaved a sigh. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to go hunt down whoever was running this damn khrushchyovka so he could get a spare key for Bogomol’s apartment. Somehow he doubted just leaving a note on the door would end up being to _anyone’s_ satisfaction…

Conveniently, he was interrupted by a middle-aged woman in a kerchief exiting the neighboring apartment right then.

“Excuse me,” he said, politely, “do you know the boy who lives in this apartment at all?”

“The _boy?_ ” said the woman, “with all that hair, and how thin he is, I thought that was a _girl_.”

“So you have seen him.”

“Oh, yes. _Typically_ I leave for work in the morning at the same time he does. Not much of a talker, no matter how hard I try to start a conversation…”

Ocelot wasn’t surprised on two counts; Bogomol was indeed not much of a talker, and he more than suspected this lady mostly tried to start conversations about the gas mask. “Have you seen him in the past few days?”

“Oh, oh, no. But I’m sure he’s still here, just sick I think, maybe. I certainly heard noises from his apartment a few nights ago, and I haven’t seen him since, so I don’t think he’s _left_.”

“Noises…? What sort?”

“Shouting of some kind. Thought he might have been startled by a rat. We do have rat problems around here, you know.”

“I see,” Ocelot said, “thank you.” He tipped his hat to her and, as soon as she had bundled herself off, knocked on the door again.

“Bogomol,” he said loudly, “your nice neighbor tells me you’re in there. Come open the door. I only want to talk.”

He waited patiently. It paid off when the door unlocked with a _click_ and slightly creaked open as though pushed by a wind - Bogomol wasn’t standing behind it, but it still meant he _was_ in there somewhere.

Ocelot stepped inside and closed the door behind him, taking off his heavy coat, hat, and scarf, and squinting. It was dark in here, and smelled… strange. After giving his eyes a second to adjust, Ocelot realized what it was: the whole apartment was, floor to ceiling, haphazardly blanketed every centimeter in squares of lead foil that fit the wall so closely that even the fixtures were perfectly overlaid. Ocelot was _sure_ that this wasn’t healthy.

Even aside from the lead foil, Ocelot realized as he picked through the small flat, vaguely searching for its resident and leaving cowboy-boot-shaped depressions in the foil on the floor, it would still have been an odd place to live. Almost no furniture, but scattered around in careless piles were random knick-knacks, disassembled electronics, and books, most of which had only been un-banned relatively recently. Ocelot suspected that Bogomol had acquired most of these things off the black market, largely out of boredom and not knowing what else to do with his salary.

“Bogomol?” Ocelot said at length, breaking the eerie silence of the apartment.

“What do you want?” came from what Ocelot supposed was the bedroom. At least, when Ocelot looked through the doorway, it had a bed in it, and on that bed a lanky teenaged boy miserably curled up with his back to the door.

“I was sent to check up on you,” Ocelot said, “since you suddenly disappeared.”

“…”

“How about it, Bogomol?”

Bogomol still didn’t respond.

Alright. Fine. Kid was clearly depressed about something. Could be trouble in and of itself, even without getting into what Bogomol might or might not do as a result of his bad mood.

Ocelot walked up next to the bed and looked down at Bogomol, who had his face pressed partly against the mattress, the rest of it covered by his hair. His nails were chewed and ragged and bleeding and now that Ocelot was standing closer he could see that he wasn’t wearing his gas mask - mostly because said gas mask was lying on the floor next to Ocelot’s boot. (That must be what the lead foil was for: an apartment-wide substitute for the gas mask, so he could take it off once in a while, probably to eat or drink, or just for physical comfort’s sake.)

“What happened?” Ocelot said flatly.

“I had a dream,” Bogomol muttered. “A bad one.”

“Did you now. When?”

“…what day is it…?”

“It’s already Friday, were you aware of that?”

“No… I thought it was Sunday.”

Ocelot blinked. “Have you been lying in bed for six days?”

“…have I?”

He shifted, peering up at Ocelot through his hair. Ocelot met his eyes easily, but was a little surprised by them - pale blue, sleepy, and eyelashes probably as ridiculous as Ocelot’s - they burned with an intensity that chased away any remaining doubts Ocelot might have had about how much _will_ Bogomol possessed.

“If it’s Friday, then,” Bogomol said, “Eli’s letter should come in tomorrow.”

“Have you been lying in bed for six days?” Ocelot said again.

“…yes. But I moved myself sometimes. I’m fine.”

“Sit up.”

Bogomol followed Ocelot’s flat order without protest, but very much with the air that he didn’t really care what he did one way or the other and only did as Ocelot said because it didn’t matter to him at all. His hair fell away from his face as he did, and while he a damn sight prettier than, say, Skull Face, Ocelot still had to bite back a startled expression. It was a shame, really. He would have been a cute kid if his face weren’t so mangled, his cheeks so sunken, and purple bags under his eyes so large - he had an attractively angular face with perfect skin apart from his scars, a smattering of freckles, and full, plush lips despite the rings of stitches in them.

“You’re staring,” Bogomol said. He didn’t sound particularly offended or accusatory, but he certainly didn’t sound flattered or comfortable, either.

“Nevermind,” Ocelot said, “show me your arm.”

Obediently Bogomol raised one arm, tugging his sleeve back. An oval-shaped area of skin up at his shoulder was flushed red, and there was a swollen, open sore on his elbow. Ocelot sighed.

“Bedsores, Bogomol? _Really?_ ”

“…”

He dragged a hand down his face. This was just great. And not in the least because if this idiot child’s bedsores got infected, it would end up coming down on Ocelot’s head one way or the other…

“Get undressed,” he said, “I’m sure you’ve got bandages and disinfectant _somewhere_ in this dump…”

Ocelot found an old first aid kit in the remains of an even older television, although upon opening it he found that - while there were plenty of bandages that were apparently still fine - the bottle of disinfectant gel had dried up and gotten useless with time. Ah well, the bottle of water shoved in the kit (didn’t look like it belonged to it originally) was still sealed, and water didn’t go bad - and the proper way to disinfect any open sore was mostly irrigating it and putting a bandage on.

He found some soap in the kitchen, and at the same time a bottle of vodka that he suspected had been left by the previous owner, at least judging by the dust on it. He kept it in mind for later, and returned to Bogomol’s room.

Bogomol _appeared_ to be completely naked, but he was clutching his bedsheet to his chest, so that only his thin arms and bony shoulders were really exposed. He was watching Ocelot carefully, and Ocelot only looked at him impassively in turn. “Go on,” he said, “I know the ones on your arm won’t be the only sores you have.”

Hesitantly Bogomol stepped off the bed, still clutching the sheet to himself and keeping his eyes fixed on Ocelot, and shifted the sheet slightly, still keeping himself covered but unveiling a strip of pale flesh - protruding ribs, a sharp hip, one long leg. He had red spots on his side and ankle, an open sore on his knee, and an even larger one on the side of his hip.

“And your other side?” Ocelot said, raising an eyebrow.

“Just this one,” Bogomol said quietly.

“I see. Want to step into the bathroom for this?”

“No.”

Didn’t matter to Ocelot. He sat on the bed next to where Bogomol was standing, took his gloves off so they wouldn’t get wet, and opened the bottle of water.

The bedsores that amounted to little more than persistent redness, cooler to the touch than the rest of his skin, were simply cleaned with soap and water - Ocelot was careful not to press too much, and patted instead of rubbed, lest he exacerbate the issue and have to deal with it later. The ones where the skin was broken he rinsed with the water and left the soap out of it entirely. Bogomol winced slightly as he did. Yeah, it probably did hurt. Ocelot really just couldn’t find it in him to care. Nor could he find it in him to care about the way Bogomol abruptly broke his heretofore overly-intense staring at Ocelot when Ocelot had him lift up his leg and plant his foot on the bed so Ocelot could deal with the sore on his knee. He just looked deliberately at the wall now, hands tightening on the bedsheet that still carefully concealed the rest of his body.

As Ocelot was bandaging the now-clean sores, Bogomol spoke, with exactly the same ‘clearly uncomfortable but not actually rejecting Ocelot’ air as before: “Your hands are lingering.”

“Are they?” Ocelot said, unruffled.

“…I can take over from here.”

Ocelot stood. “Come meet me in the kitchen when you’re through, then.”

By the time Bogomol had finished bandaging himself and had gotten dressed again and joined Ocelot, Ocelot was already waiting with the bottle of vodka and two glasses, sitting in the only chair at the tiny old table in the middle of the kitchen. While Bogomol stood warily in the doorway - in mostly summer clothing, for God’s sake it was the middle of winter, and why did he even _own_ thigh-high stockings? - Ocelot opened the bottle, poured some into the both glasses, then, picked up one of them and gestured grandiosely towards Bogomol. “Alright, Bogomol. Come tell me about that dream you had.”

Bogomol came and sat across from Ocelot, hovering in an invisible chair, taking the other glass of vodka in his hands out of, in all likelihood, politeness, although he didn’t drink from it… yet. He nodded. Ocelot noticed that he had bandaged the tips of his fingers, too.

“It was about Eli.”

Ocelot waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, he prompted, “What about him?”

“I don’t know. He was… his squadron got shot down over the Middle East somewhere. It was scary.”

“Sounds like your typical nightmare to me,” Ocelot said, taking a sip of vodka.

Bogomol scrunched in a little on himself, his hands tightening around his glass. “I don’t know,” he said again.

There was another pause. Ocelot gave a long breath out through his nose.

“Take your drink, Bogomol,” he said, gesturing.

Bogomol unprotestingly tipped back the entire glass of vodka in one breath, and if it burned his throat at all he gave no outward indication of it.

“Now, do you think,” Ocelot said, refilling Bogomol’s glass, “that your dream might have been caused by your psychic link with him? I assume it’s still intact in one way or another.”

Bogomol nodded, frowning, eyes cast down to the table.

“So as far as you’re concerned, you could have been dreaming about something that had already happened, was going to happen shortly, or was even happing at that very moment.”

He nodded again, then drank his vodka the same way as before. Ocelot didn’t bother refilling his glass this time, figuring that at this rate he was going to poison himself without paying attention.

Instead he sat back in his chair, watching Bogomol closely. “I was under the impression that your powers only worked within in a certain range. Three miles, wasn’t it?”

Nod.

“Iraq is over _two_ _thousand_ miles from here.”

“I think some things aren’t affected by distance,” Bogomol said.

Ocelot twitched his moustache. “But are you certain of that? Has anything like this ever happened before?”

Bogomol shook his head. “Ever since we met— when we parted ways when he turned eighteen, that was the first time we were ever more than three miles apart.”

“So… there’s no real reason to say it _was_ anything other than an ordinary nightmare. It’s only natural that you’d be _worried_ about his safety now that you’re so far apart, and it’s perfectly normal to dream about terrible things happening to someone you’re worried about. That doesn’t mean they’ll come true, even if you are psychic.”

Bogomol nodded uncertainly, his eyes flicking up to Ocelot before looking back down at the empty glass in his hands again. Ocelot took another sip of vodka.

“But what if that isn’t it?” Bogomol said, “what if I did have my dream because of our bond? What if Eli’s…”

“…dead?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No,” he said, in a much more firm voice than Ocelot had ever heard him use, “I’d know if he were dead.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“I’m certain. No matter how far apart we are, either of us would know the instant the other dies and our link breaks. …it would hurt.”

Ocelot didn’t refute that, but although Bogomol’s logic was sound (surprisingly, considering Bogomol’s attempts at logic could usually be described as harebrained at best), there was no proof that that was really how it worked. It was more likely he had convinced himself of that a long time ago, to ease his fears about something happening to either one of them while they were apart - he could assure himself that Eli was still alive as long as he never felt an inexplicable pain of having their bond broken, and that if _he_ should die then his death wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“So he’s certainly still alive, then,” Ocelot said, “what are you so worried about?”

“If his plane went down - he could be hurt, or crippled, or maimed. He could be in a coma. Or what if he wasn’t recovered? He could be lost in the Iraqi desert—“

“I think Eli would have no trouble surviving on his own. He would find his way back to civilization handily.”

“—or taken prisoner. What if he’s been taken prisoner??”

“Then I don’t think the Iraqi insurgents would kill him or injure him too badly; a coalition hostage would be more valuable alive than dead and they wouldn’t want to take risks.” Another sip. “And the war won’t last forever, you know.”

“I’m just…”

“It’s alright to be worried,” Ocelot sighed, “but not to the point of lying in bed until sores develop over a _dream_.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Ocelot sipped his drink while Bogomol kept staring blankly at his empty glass.

This was never going to go anywhere unless Ocelot extended another pointless favor. Internally rolling his eyes, he said, “Tell you what. I’ll get in touch with my contacts in the SAS and… enquire after Eli’s health.” Bogomol looked up at him. “I should have an answer by tomorrow.”

“…thank you, Ocelot.”

“It’s no trouble.” Or, at least, not _much_ trouble, and certainly less than the trouble Bogomol would give him if he carried on like this. “Now stop worrying about him unless you actually _have_ something to worry about.”

Bogomol nodded.

For the sake of the illusion of friendship, Ocelot stayed to finish off his glass of vodka, ignoring Bogomol, who was still sitting with his bandaged hands clutching the empty glass and a drawn expression.

Ocelot was almost on the point of getting up and leaving when Bogomol abruptly burst into tears.

“What are you crying for?” Ocelot said, taken aback.

“I’m- I’m _scared_ ,” Bogomol stammered, ineffectually wiping his face, “I’m scared something bad happened to Eli. I’m scared I’ll never see him again.”

“…Bogomol—“

“I never should have left him,” Bogomol said, losing his balance and catching himself against the table, still crying pathetically. “I should have said no when he… I shouldn’t have left him, I know he’d be okay if I were still there but I’m not and I don’t know if he _is_ —“

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ocelot said.

“But what if he’s _not?_ ”

He stood up unsteadily, and walked around the table, behind Ocelot, and leaned against the counter, grabbing some paper towels and wiping his face with them, sniffling, undersized chest hitching.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, and Ocelot noticed a slight slur in his voice, “I wish he were here. He’s my whole world, Ocelot. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m lost. I need Eli.”

“You’re panicking over nothing.”

“I need Eli,” he repeated, “I need him. I’m scared.”

“…you’re _drunk_.”

Bogomol dissolved into completely insensible sobbing, and when he moved back from the counter - to do what Ocelot didn’t know - he tripped over his own feet and fell backwards, and Ocelot had to catch him. The boy was light as hell and he didn’t seem to notice he’d crumpled into Ocelot’s arms, he just kept crying inconsolably.

Ocelot was very good at making people cry. Not so much at making them stop. Especially if they were intoxicated. (Had Bogomol never drank before? Ocelot had thought that _he might be sixteen, but he’s also Russian_ , however at this point, it seemed extremely likely…)

“That’s enough,” Ocelot said firmly, standing him up — except Bogomol had gone pretty much completely limp and any attempt Ocelot made to let go of him would have ended with him on the floor. Ocelot sighed. _Jesus Christ_. “Stop crying, Bogomol, it won’t help anything and it’ll just dehydrate you.”

Saying that didn’t seem to help much. Not too surprising, actually. Ocelot tried a different tactic.

“Eli’s perfectly fine,” he said, patting Bogomol’s shoulder awkwardly, “you’ll see tomorrow.”

Bogomol shook his head, with incoherent mumble that Ocelot assumed translated to, “You don’t know that.”

“Even if something _did_ happen,” Ocelot said, “you’re probably right that you’d know if he were dead. This is _Eli_ we’re talking about, Bogomol. As long as he’s still technically _alive_ , he’ll pull through. If he’s stranded, he’ll find his way back; if he’s been hurt, he’ll heal; if he’s been captured, he’ll escape somehow, or at least survive until he can be recovered. He’ll be _fine_.”

Bogomol started to calm down as Ocelot spoke, just a little. He was still a mess of tears and snot and he kept hiccoughing as he tried to get ahold of himself, and he was still uncomfortably scrunched up against Ocelot’s body, but he _was_ starting to regain his sort-of composure.

“And that’s assuming something even _did_ happen,” Ocelot continued, “right now, the only ‘proof’ you have of that is a dream that you might have simply had because you were already worried. In all likelihood, nothing has happened at all, and tomorrow you can write to him and tell him all about this silly episode.”

“H-He’ll say I’m being r-ridiculous,” Bogomol slurred, wiping his face again.

“You are being ridiculous. But it’s perfectly understandable, in your case. It has been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

Bogomol twisted himself around, staring up at Ocelot with big wet baby blue eyes. “Am I ever g-going to see him again?”

“Yes,” Ocelot said immediately.

“…are you sure?”

“Of course I am,” Ocelot said, “if you two ever find the opportunity to arrange a meeting, I’d be glad to facilitate.”

Bogomol didn’t say anything, just nodded absently.

Then he threw his arms around Ocelot’s neck and pressed himself close. It was so unexpected that it actually took Ocelot - of all people - about two seconds to register the hug. He went as still as possible.

This was… uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t be so nice to me,” Bogomol mumbled, and Ocelot could feel his lips moving, hot and dry, against the skin of his neck. “I don’t like you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Do you ever worry about Eli, too? …do you care at all about him?”

“He was a tough kid,” Ocelot said, intentionally not answering the second question, “somehow I don’t think joining the SAS would soften him any.”

“He’s probably… perfectly fine…”

“Yes, Bogomol. He probably is.”

It was another minute or so before Ocelot observed the change in Bogomol’s breathing: he’d fallen asleep, still latched onto Ocelot’s shoulders. Ocelot let out a breath of relief. From there it was an easy matter to pick Bogomol up - he really was very light - and carry him back to the bedroom, and tuck him into bed. He carefully brushed Bogomol’s hair back from where it was sticking to his scarred, freckled face, then grabbed his gas mask and placed it on the bed next to him and, after a moment’s consideration, pulled his notebook out of his pocket. He wrote a quick note reminding Bogomol to come into work tomorrow even if he still felt bad (“Even you can’t stay in Kryuchkov’s good graces forever…”), tore it out of the book, and placed it next to his gas mask. Then he returned to the kitchen.

He wiped off, and cleaned, his neck where Bogomol’s face had been pressed with the same attitude and care as when he’d disinfected Bogomol’s bedsores — like Bogomol’s tears or mucus, or somehow the touch of his lips, could potentially infect him, and Ocelot had to avoid that for the simple reason that it would be inconvenient if he didn’t, and if it hadn’t mattered either way then he would have been glad on some deep, petty level to let the infection run its course.

And then he left. Bogomol murmured something in his sleep as Ocelot passed his bedroom door. Ocelot didn’t even turn to look.

The next day. Afternoon.

As usual Bogomol slunk into Ocelot’s office. But from what Ocelot could see of his eyes behind the tinted lenses of his gas mask the bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his eyes seemed to be bloodshot. Plus he was moving with a kind of pained caution, eyes tight and steps carefully soft.

Ocelot almost laughed. He was hungover, wasn’t he?

“Eli’s letter didn’t come in,” Bogomol said in a slightly hoarse voice.

“I know,” Ocelot said, sitting back in his chair and putting on an appropriately somber expression. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Bogomol.”

Bogomol went completely stiff. His eyes snapped up to Ocelot’s, then twitched around the room, like he was looking for some way out other than the door behind him.

Ocelot didn’t have time to be anything other than blunt. “Looks like your dream meant something after all. Last week, Eli got shot down over Kuwait. His whole squadron is MIA.”

Bogomol stared at him blankly for a long while. Slowly he turned his head away, and scratched behind his ear, like he was turning over Ocelot’s words in his head, syllable by syllable.

“He’s… MIA?”

“Yes.”

“…will he ever come back?”

“Don’t know what kind of recovery options we’re looking at here - I’ll admit I don’t know much about how much the SAS cares to recover soldiers taken prisoner in the field. I imagine they don’t bother for reconnaissance missions, but I don’t think that was what this was.”

Bogomol waited.

“There were a few bodies found at the wreckage site,” Ocelot went on at length, “a couple SAS soldiers, a couple insurgents. Eli wasn’t positively identified.”

“So… he’s alive. And…” Bogomol was silent for a long time. “…either he’s been taken prisoner, or he escaped and is somewhere in the desert…?”

“Either way,” Ocelot said pointedly, “he’ll be fine.”

“…right.”

“The war won’t last forever.”

“Right.”

“And Eli’s very hardy.”

“Right, right.”

After all the drunken sobbing yesterday, Ocelot was almost surprised at how calm Bogomol was being about this. Of course, there was no telling how much he’d break down once he was back in his apartment, alone, with his mask off. But that was none of Ocelot’s business.

“Ocelot, can you…” Bogomol started hesitantly.

Ocelot raised an eyebrow. “…make sure you’re updated on the situation? Of course. I’ll put you directly in touch in with one of my SAS contacts, he’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you.”

Ocelot waited for Bogomol to say something else, but when he didn’t, he assumed the conversation was over and turned back his paperwork. After a few moments, he glanced up again. Bogomol was still standing skittishly in front of Ocelot’s desk.

“Is there something else?” Ocelot said evenly.

“Um… about last night…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why don’t I remember most of it?”

“…you were drunk. That tends to happen.”

Bogomol stared at his feet, scratched behind his ear again.

“What happened?” he asked without looking up.

“You cried for a while and then you fell asleep on me,” Ocelot said, looking down at his paperwork again, “so I put you to bed and let myself out.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Oh.”

Another long pause. Ocelot glanced up again and only just caught Bogomol scrutinizing him before he looked away quickly, fidgeting. “I’ll… be going then,” he said, “please get me in touch with the SAS man as soon as… as soon as you can…”

“Mm. And last night?”

“I thought maybe… nevermind.”

Bogomol shifted his weight uncomfortably, then turned his back and left without another word - almost fumbling with the doorknob, hesitating on the doorway. Ocelot watched him for a moment or two, then went back to his paperwork.

“You’re not my type, anyway,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bedsores scene was originally going to have Ocelot cleaning them with vodka, but I insist on having accurate first aid in my fics... so I asked my nurse mother how to properly clean a bedsore, and cut the vodka... _(sigh)_


	18. Extra art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rape warning on two of these images and you may or may not already know which ones (´・ω・`)

  
(Draw-the-OT3 meme for [ _As You Say_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13371939), which is, again, a honorary part of White Diamond)

 

 

    
(based on comment left by blackorb/[hingabee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee))

   
(based on comments left by several individuals who felt the need to refer to Ocelot in this series as "nasty")

 

   

  
(Razor Turkey, "Final Will and Testament of a Man Without a Name")

  
(Brittle Mockingbird and Naga girl, "Final Will and Testament of a Man Without a Name")

  
(EVA,  _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ chapter five)


	19. Extra art 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  **   
>  _KGB EDITION_   
> 

  
 

 

    
   

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That first drawing was the basis for [this chapter of hingabee's fic _menagerie_!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759107/chapters/31650282)


	20. Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of an era; Ocelot and Bogomol exchange contact information.
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 721

November 1991, Moscow, the Lubyanka.

Bogomol was sitting on Ocelot’s desk as the latter packed up his office - Ocelot certainly had more to pack than Bogomol, who had kept his office unnaturally sparse the whole time he was employed here, did, especially considering the amount of intel files he had to rescue from the shredder.

“What are you going to do now that the KGB is dissolving?” Bogomol asked.

“Same thing I always do,” Ocelot replied, “this changes nothing.”

“You don’t think the GRU is going anywhere?”

“I doubt it. And that’s just what I’ve been doing in Russia - you know I have plenty of other positions elsewhere. What are _you_ going to do, Bogomol?”

“…I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“Hm.”

Bogomol glanced away, frowning under his mask. “Will the SAS man still keep in touch with me if I’m not your colleague anymore?”

“There’s no reason for him not to,” Ocelot said, “at least, I won’t bother telling him to cut you off. Although at this point… it’s been ten months, Bogomol—”

“Don’t say it.”

Ocelot shrugged. “Have you ever considered going back to America?”

“Going back to America…?” Bogomol blinked. “Why would I do that?”

“Easy to find work.”

“You mean easy to keep track of me.”

Ocelot tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Just so you know,” he said, “it’d be the simplest thing in the world to get you a job with the CIA.”

“You work for the CIA, don’t you?”

“On occasion. I’ve been more comfortable spending time with other organizations ever since I shot the director.”

Bogomol didn’t say anything.

“The NSA is an option, too,” Ocelot said, raising an eyebrow.

Bogomol shook his head. “I don’t want to be your colleague anymore,” he said, “I want to see if I can find Eli on my own, if the SAS won’t do anything.”

“Oh?”

“Does… does the FBI deal with terrorists?”

“Sometimes.”

“What’s the likelihood of a terrorist having any kind of connection to the group that’s still keeping hostages now that the war’s over?”

“It’s not impossible.”

Good enough for Bogomol. He decided to go back to America and join the FBI. Ocelot seemed to pick up on his decision just from the way the conversation dwindled, and let it pass without comment. He closed up the box he had been filing papers into.

“Well, somehow I don’t doubt we’ll cross paths again,” he said, “but I don’t think it’ll be for quite a while.”

“That’s for the best,” Bogomol said.

“Most likely.”

There was a pregnant pause. Bogomol looked away from Ocelot again. “You’ve been so kind to me all this time.”

“You already know about my ulterior motives,” Ocelot said dryly.

“Yes, but…”

“Listen, we’d better exchange contact information.” He pulled out a piece of paper, tore it in half, and wrote something down on one half of the paper before handing it and a pen to Bogomol.

Bogomol looked down at the paper. He was marginally surprised that there was only one phone number on it - in fact, it was the only thing on it.

“Call me if you ever need help with anything,” Ocelot said, and gestured to the blank sheet of paper. “And just in case I ever need to get in touch with you directly…”

Bogomol hesitated, then, figuring that this was just a quicker way of giving Ocelot something he could have certainly gotten on his own any time he liked, wrote down his own contact information and handed it back to Ocelot, who gave it an unamused look. Even though Bogomol was excellent at reading, his handwriting and spelling were still roughly on par with that of a fourth-grader’s…

“I’ll see you around, then,” Ocelot said, standing up.

“…right.”

Bogomol almost entirely forgot about Ocelot again after moving back to America, and even lost the scrap of paper with his phone number on it sometime in ’93. He never noticed. The first time he’d thought about Ocelot in years was when he got a call from him saying that Eli had been recovered from Iraq and was at Mother Base, would you like to come visit him? He dropped everything and came at once.

And even though he’d never liked Ocelot, it wasn’t until then that he was given reason to.


	21. Emergency Fundraiser (Comic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wolf sighed. 'What am I supposed to do about the door? It is completely wrecked, and I would rather Liquid not find out about that…'
> 
> "'He’s going to find out no matter what you do,' Ocelot said, re-holstering his gun. 'The money for a replacement door will come out of our budget anyway - unless you want to hold a fundraiser carwash.'
> 
> "'…'
> 
> “'Wolf?'
> 
> “'That is not a bad idea…'
> 
> “'Wolf, I wasn’t being serious.'
> 
> “'No, it could work,' Wolf said, 'we could make enough money for it in two hours if I wear a bikini and bend over frequently.'
> 
> “‘"We"? I’m not going to participate in this.'
> 
> “'Well… Octopus could put on one of his female disguises, and _also_ wear a bikini and bend over frequently…'”

  
  
  



	22. الكلبة

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid can usually ignore a cretin trying to get on his nerves, but some things... well, some things just set him off.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - implied reference to past Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 1,217

1994, Mother Base.

“So that’s the famous _Liquid Snake_.”

Liquid glanced over disinterestedly. Huh. Looked like a new guy.

“Hey, don’t try to start anything with him,” Mad Tapir said to the new guy, “he’s in the same combat unit as me.”

The new guy scoffed. “A through S rank isn’t _that_ much better than B rank.”

“Well, maybe so, but Liquid is—“

Mad Tapir didn’t finish his sentence; the new guy just walked right up to Liquid, proffered a hand, and said, “The name’s Coarse Albatross. I’m in the B rank third group. Hi.”

Liquid shook his hand. “Judging by the conversation I just overheard you having,” he drawled, “I don’t particularly need to introduce myself.”

“Oh, haha. No. I’ve only been here a few days but I’ve already heard all about you. You’re quite the talk around here, apparently.”

“Hm. I doubt you’ve heard everything.”

Coarse Albatross snorted. “Really? Okay, I heard that you were one of the rescued child soldiers, but you ran off after a few months, and ten years later Saladin had to bail your ass out of some prison camp in the Middle East.”

Liquid frowned at him. “Generally accurate so far, I suppose.”

“I also heard that you’re Saladin’s _son_ —“

“Yes, so?”

“-and you’re sleeping with Commander Ocelot. And may or may not be cheating on him with a member of the intel unit.”

Liquid rolled his eyes, waving a hand irritably. “I’m not cheating on Ocelot,” he said, “Mantis and I are close, but we’re not _that_ kind of close.”

“My god, so it’s true? You’re boning Commander Ocelot??”

He crossed his arms, even more annoyed now. “What does it matter to you if I’m-“

“No _wonder_ you’re in an A through S rank unit!!”

“Excuse me…?”

Coarse Albatross tilted his head back, and laughed heartily. “Man, I thought it was just _nepotism_ , but you really fucked your way to the top, too? Got put in the most prestigious unit just because of who you’re related to - _and_ because you seduced a commander!”

Liquid narrowed his eyes. He admittedly wasn’t very good at keeping things from getting under his skin, but Coarse Albatross was clearly just an idiot. “If they were going for prestigious,” he said dryly, “then I think they would have gone with A through S rank unit _one_ , not unit _two_.”

“Pfft… that would have been _too_ obvious, I guess. Gotta keep things a _little_ bit on the down-low, right? Still doesn’t change the fact that you got to where you are by getting on all fours and biting the pillow. Face it, you’re Ocelot’s _bitch_.”

Liquid felt like Mother Base had just ground to an abrupt halt. “Pardon?” he said, eyes wide, “say that again?”

“You heard me. You’re Ocelot’s bi-“

_Crack_.

The next thing Coarse Albatross, or hell, Liquid, knew, Liquid had slugged Coarse Albatross across the jaw, knocking him to the ground, where Liquid pinned him down and continued punching him wordlessly, eyes still wide, pupils dilated, and breathing harshly though his nose like a angry bull. By the third blow his face was covered in blood. Mad Tapir, who had passively watched the entire conversation, dragged his hands down his face and yelled at a passing soldier to go get someone, Venom, Quiet, Ocelot, _anyone_. He himself decided - somewhat wisely - to not intervene lest _he_ get attacked by Liquid, too. Although he did try shouting at Liquid, telling him to lay off before he did any real damage. Liquid didn’t even notice he was being spoken to.

Less than a full minute passed before the soldier Mad Tapir had sent returned, with Ocelot in tow. Ocelot, who had an I’m-not-angry-with-you-just-disappointed expression, calmly walked up behind Liquid and grabbed his arm just as he was drawing it back to punch Coarse Albatross again, and wrenched it behind Liquid’s shoulder, twisting it painfully.

At least _that_ got Liquid’s attention. He cried out, although he sounded much more startled than pained.

“Hmm,” Ocelot frowned as he pulled Liquid up off of Coarse Albatross, still twisting his arm. “Now, isn’t this a familiar situation…?”

Liquid grit his teeth and didn’t say anything. On the plus side, having been yanked back to his senses he felt marginally less homicidal now, which Ocelot picked up on and released his arm.

Ocelot put his hands on his hips and looked between Liquid and Coarse Albatross, who had only just sat up and was ineffectually trying to mop blood off his face with his sleeve. “What started this?”

Coarse Albatross snarled. “I didn’t do anyth-“

“Albatross was antagonizing Liquid, sir,” Mad Tapir said.

“I was not! I was just- having a conversation—“

“He was saying that Liquid was only put in an A through S rank combat unit because he’s Saladin’s son and your lover.”

“Hm.” Ocelot glanced at Liquid, wholly unimpressed.

Liquid’s hands clenched and unclenched. “He called me a bitch,” he said a voice low enough for only Ocelot to hear.

Ocelot’s expression changed slightly, in a somewhat inscrutable way. “Well,” he said sternly, “whatever the cause of the altercation, it’s still generally frowned upon here to get into fistfights with your fellow soldiers.”

“To be fair, sir,” Mad Tapir said, “Albatross didn’t really fight back at any point. He just laid there and took it.”

Albatross spat a clot of blood out, evidently embarrassed at that.

“In that case,” Ocelot said, “I suppose only Liquid will be facing disciplinary action.”

“…yes, sir,” Liquid said.

Ocelot scrutinized him for a second while Mad Tapir helped Coarse Albatross up. He put a hand on Liquid’s shoulder and spoke quietly into his ear: “I’ll decide what to do with you later - kitchen duty seems likely. For now go to my quarters and cool off.”

Liquid nodded. Both he and Ocelot walked off in opposite directions, Ocelot without a second glance and Liquid glaring over his shoulder at Coarse Albatross.

“Get yourself to the medical platform before you bleed on anything else,” Ocelot told Coarse Albatross in passing.

There was a brief pause. Coarse Albatross tried to wipe his face with his sleeve again.

“I tried to warn you,” Mad Tapir said at length, “Liquid’s combat ranking is A++ and only two points short of S-rank — same as Saladin in his prime.”

“Oh.”

“It’s odd, though… usually he doesn’t pay much attention to the rumors about him. He doesn’t even care when people refer to him as Commander Ocelot’s boytoy. I guess he just doesn’t like being called a ‘bitch’…”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind. And try to avoid him in the future.”

Meanwhile, across the base on the command platform, Liquid was curled up on Ocelot’s bed, trying to sate his frustrated, nervous rage with an attempt at a nap.

_What are you doing in there?_ came Mantis’ irritated voice into his head.

_You missed all the fun_ , Liquid thought, _some new recruit called me a bitch and the next thing I remember Ocelot is pulling me off of him and my fists are covered in blood._

_Fun indeed. If you want to nap, Eli, I’d suggest someplace_ other _than_ Ocelot’s _quarters. Do you want me to come to you?_

Liquid rolled over. “Leave me alone,” he mumbled out loud.

_…as you wish, then._


	23. Outer Heaven (Comic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is old and largely has nothing to do with this AU _per se_ BUT
> 
> Context was an old tumblr post about how Raven and Ocelot were at Outer Heaven (i.e., the Galzburg FOB) but were off-base during Operation Intrude N313, further followed by "they were only getting groceries".


	24. Tie Your Mother Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ocelot meets up with an old colleague to have a very important conversation about her son.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - discussion of Rape/Non-Con, brief reference to Underage  
> W/C 1,762

October 1994, outside Seoul

“How is he, how is he??”

“I just sat down, EVA, no need to pester me with questions so soon.”

EVA frowned at him. “You call me out of the blue a _month_ ago to tell me Eli’s finally been recovered from Iraq, and then you stop returning my calls.”

“Yes, well,” Ocelot said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been busy.”

“So - how is he? What’s going on over there? Is he still at Outer Heaven?”

“Yes, he is,” Ocelot said, “he’s been recovering from his wounds and gaining weight back nicely. As far as psychological recovery goes, that’s a bit more of a toss-up — but freedom suits him well. And it does seem to help that I had Mantis brought to Mother Base.”

EVA blinked. “Who’s Mantis?”

“Hm? I’m sure you met him a few years ago. Red hair, gas mask, hung around with Eli, probably floating?”

“Oh,” EVA said, “his quiet friend. Yes, I remember him - Eli called him Tretij back then, thought it was odd at the time.”

“Ah, Liquid hasn’t learned Russian in the intervening eight or nine years, either. Anyway, from the looks of things they’re going to both join up with Outer Heaven once he’s deemed fit to do so… not that Liquid’s told me yet, but I can tell he’s thinking about it. Mantis is already a temporary staff member, but he’ll stay if Liquid does.”

“Well, it’s good that they’re still close,” EVA said, “and good that Mantis is there at all. Eli’s been in captivity for nearly four years, a little bit of socialization now is going to be good for him.”

“Mm.”

“Is he getting along with V?”

“They haven’t talked too much so far. I know V is _more_ than willing to give him another chance, although I’m having a hard time reading Liquid’s feelings about V.”

“Conflicted, or just not thinking about it for now?”

“Hard to say. I think it’ll work out, though. Certainly none of Liquid’s animosity towards John is carrying over to V anymore, now that he knows they’re separate people.”

“That’s good,” EVA said.

There was a lull in conversation. It was a nice day today, a bit chilly but pleasantly overcast, decent weather for two people starting to get up there in years to sit on a bench together and watch passing traffic. Of course, EVA was clearly mostly itching to ask what exactly had _happened_ to Liquid in that POW camp, but didn’t quite know how to phrase the question.

Ocelot glanced at her. “He wasn’t too badly injured,” he said, “there’s going to be some scarring, but he’s got all his body parts still.”

EVA let out a sigh of relief. “Maybe it’s because he inexplicably looks like Miller so much, but I was half-convinced that he was going to come back missing a limb or two.”

“He’s a tough kid. Durable.”

“How did the extraction go?”

“Ah… the extraction itself went off without a hitch. Prior to it…”

He trailed off. EVA understood. It was the flaw in the plan from the very beginning, the unavoidable risk: torture. No way around it. EVA had sent Ocelot to find Liquid under the excuse of being an interrogator-for-hire, the feared Shalashaska out of a job and looking for work now that the Soviet Union was gone, and they had both known that in order to maintain his cover when he finally located Liquid he would more than likely have to torture him. To break him.

“He’ll probably never forgive you,” EVA said quietly.

There was another long pause.

“You’re going to find out sooner or later,” Ocelot said, “so I might as well tell you now before you can get the wrong impression from someone else.”

“Huh?”

“Liquid and I… well, to be blunt, we’re sleeping together.”

EVA blinked.

“ _What?_ ”

“Liquid and I are sleeping together.”

There was a very brief pause, then EVA flung one arm over Ocelot’s shoulders and leaned close - to any passerby they would have simply looked like a generic albeit white middle-aged couple, but Ocelot could feel the muzzle of her pistol pressing against his ribs.

“You,” she said in a tone of voice that non-Russian speakers would assume belonged in a perfectly pleasant, affectionate even, conversation, “are 28 years older than him. And he just got out of a _goddamned prison camp_.”

“I am aware of this,” Ocelot said dryly.

“Why in the _hell_ would you think that’s a good idea? After spending the last three years around people who did nothing but torture him, starve him, and keep him locked up, there is absolutely no way he’s emotionally stable enough for a relationship.”

Ocelot carefully weighed his words. “It isn’t exactly a relationship,” he said, “I’m looking after him, but the sex is entirely separate from the rest of-“

“You shouldn’t be having sex with him!” The gun against his ribs pressed harder.

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“…what?”

“It wasn’t. He came to me. It’s his way of coping with what happened.” He took a deep breath. “Common in rape survivors, actually.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. EVA was completely taken aback for a few moments, and then Ocelot felt her finger shift, abandoning trigger discipline and curling threateningly.

“They- they raped him.”

“Yes. It’s… unfortunate.”

“And you _slept_ with him.”

“Yes.”

“ADAM, you— he doesn’t need this, ADAM! For God’s sake, maybe I could look past the _age gap_ since he’s an _adult_ already, but this?! He needs time to recover! Ending up in your bed is _not_ a healthy part of the recovery process!!”

“What was I supposed to, EVA?”

“Send him back to the medical platform! Tell him _no!_ ”

Ocelot twitched his moustache. “Do you know what kind of message that would send? I’ve heard him muttering to himself - I know how he feels. He’s half-convinced that, because of what happened, he’s been _defiled_ and he’s lost all chance of ever being viewed as desirable by anyone. And from the looks of things, his self-esteem was in the gutter even _before_ he joined the SAS.”

“What’s your point?” EVA said through gritted teeth.

“My point is that if I sent him away - if I ever send him away - he’ll take that as confirmation that he’s too broken to find pleasure with anyone. I don’t want to do that to him.”

“That doesn’t mean you should _take advantage_ of him. Christ, he should be talking to a counselor about that, not- not having sex with someone almost thirty years older than him.” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t pretend you aren’t getting anything out of this.”

Ocelot shrugged.

“At _least_ tell me you’re thinking of him as his own person in all this, not just a replacement goldfish for Big Boss.”

“He’s his own person as far as I’m concerned,” Ocelot said. EVA frowned. She knew how easy it was for Ocelot to lie, and she knew if she called him out he’d just reply “Well, you _told_ me to tell you…”

“And- oh god, ADAM, I hate to even _consider_ this, but back in ’84—”

Ocelot gave her an affronted look, the first time he’d shown any real emotion on his face since the start of the conversation. “EVA, I know he’s always looked very much like his father, but I am _not_ a hebephile. I suppose I can’t say for sure if he’d had any kind of crush on me back then, but as far as _I’m_ concerned the attraction here only started with him as an adult.”

Almost a full minute passed before EVA reholstered her gun and scooted away on the bench, glaring at Ocelot. Ocelot let out a long breath.

“It’s probably mostly attention that he wants, not sex per se,” EVA said, “I’m sure the insurgents largely left him alone when they weren’t… abusing him. That’s pretty standard.”

“You’re probably right,” Ocelot said.

“So, next time he comes to you, _try_ to convince him that he doesn’t need to have sex with someone to get their attention. I guess convincing him that his self-worth isn’t - or at least it shouldn’t be - measured by how much people want to bed him is going to be a lot more difficult…”

“Mm.”

“I don’t approve of any of this, okay? Just so you know. I want you to end your little relationship with him as soon as you can, ADAM. I just… I realize you’re not wrong… it might _be_ a bad idea to just cut him off. But this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism and if you want to _help_ him you should be helping him come up with _better_ ways to cope or just getting him to talk to a counselor. I _know_ you have those at Outer Heaven. Just… stop enabling this, alright?”

“Well, I _do_ want to help him,” Ocelot said, gesticulating.

EVA knew Ocelot better than to not press. “So you’ll get him to stop asking for sex and give himself time to recover?”

“I’ll _try_ to get him to talk to one of the counsellors,” Ocelot said, “no promises, though. Unsurprisingly, he isn’t exactly up front about the whole gang-rape thing.”

“And…?”

“And I can’t tell you what will happen with our relationship, EVA, I’m sorry.”

She looked at him like she was right about to pull out her gun again.

“But I won’t initiate anything. If he wants sex so badly, I’ll give it to him, but apart from that I won’t touch him. Is that satisfactory?”

EVA’s frown deepened. There was an unspoken implication hanging in the air, the elephant in the room of Ocelot’s preternatural skills at manipulating people. EVA had to wonder if Ocelot had groomed Liquid somehow, if he was intentionally taking advantage of him, if he himself were the one subtly convincing Liquid it wasn’t a horrible idea to jump into a sexual relationship after what he’d just been through. But by the same token, EVA knew, or at least thought she knew, that certain people were pretty off-limits when it came to Ocelot’s manipulations, and since Big Boss was one of them, well, maybe Ocelot afforded the same courtesy to his sons. Maybe he was genuinely fond of Liquid, or at least fond enough of him to not manipulate him as long as it wasn’t for anything work-related.

“…I guess it’s a start,” she said at length. “Just… be _careful_. Don’t hurt him any worse than he’s already been hurt.”

“I’m always careful.”


	25. Matryoshka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's missing its center.
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 1,087

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wrote this because it was _severely_ underdiscussed in Make It Home. Could probably write a hell of a lot more on this subject, though... we'll see...

1994, Mother Base.

So there was no chance of him ever going back to normal.

Liquid’s influence had been supplanted. When he first met Mantis, the boy had no will or personality of his own, just whatever he leeched off of someone else - when he latched onto young Eli, there hadn’t been anyone with more thirst for revenge than Eli and besides, Ocelot said ‘the Third Child’ bonded better with kids than adults because something something brain chemistry— it hadn’t been too long after that that they had entirely left that part of the world, that war zone where every other person had someone or something they needed to _pay back_ , and after that they had lived in almost complete isolation in America for a long time.

So it was only natural that, when Mantis had started developing his own personality, it would be based off of Liquid’s. Specifically, it had been based off of what Liquid now realized he’d only been subconsciously projecting onto him: the parts of himself he didn’t like, the weak, soft, and vulnerable parts, the parts of him that were _scared_. So Mantis had grown up to be perpetually skittish and nervous, uncertain about everything and always turning to Liquid for reassurance and protection. He never said much and he always hid behind Liquid’s back, even when he’d hit a growth spurt and ended up several centimeters taller than him.

…maybe this was Liquid’s fault.

“Hm?”

“Er… nothing, Mantis.”

It hadn’t occured to him, back when he left America to return to England and join the SAS, that it might not have been the …kindest thing to do, to just leave Mantis like that. Of course he’d thought it would all work out perfectly fine and when they’d finally managed to get letters to one another that had just reinforced that impression, but…

The serial killer incident had nothing to do with him whatsoever. He hadn’t been there. It probably would have still happened even if he had. It was completely out of his control, and out of Mantis’ control, too.

So it was completely and utterly ridiculous that he felt like, on some level, Mantis’ abrupt change in personality was _punishing_ him for abandoning him when he turned 18.

“Eli…”

Liquid blinked. “I…” he started, scooting away from Mantis, “sorry. Didn’t mean to— well…”

“I’m not sure what to say,” Mantis said. “I have been trying to act more like my old self around you.”

“Oh. You have?”

“Yes. I… am not very good at it, but I try to keep my temper in check and my derisive comments to a minimum.”

“…I see.”

Mantis fell silent, pulling his legs up to himself and glowering at the floor. He was, evidently, frustrated and upset that Liquid was drawing such a clear mental distinction between ‘old Mantis’ and ‘new Mantis’, and might have kind of preferred the old Mantis at least a little bit…

Funnily enough, the way he withdrew into himself like this reminded Liquid more of the old Mantis than anything else he had done ever since coming to Mother Base. The old him was still in there _somewhere_.

“Eli, you shouldn’t think about this like that,” Mantis mumbled.

“Like what?”

“Like I am some kind of matryoshka and you can find what I used to be like if you pull off enough shells. That person… that child… is gone forever, Eli.”

Now Liquid was the one who wasn’t sure what to say.

Mantis sighed, unfolding and giving Liquid an even look. “I know this upsets you.”

“No, it’s-“

“Hush, I can see it in your mind. It… I do not mind if you are upset, it is only fair. To return from captivity only to find the person closest to you completely different from how you remember…”

Liquid didn’t respond for a while, instead pensively scraping patterns into the dirt and grime on the floor with his nails. Finally, he said, “I can get used to it.”

“…Eli…”

“What do you _want_ me to say?” he demanded, looking up at Mantis. “Do you want me to just tell you to- to just _leave_ , that I don’t like you anymore, that I can’t stand way you-“

He cut himself off. He was expecting Mantis to interrupt him, but he didn’t, just stared at him, his eyes troubled.

“…sorry,” Liquid muttered eventually.

“I wish it had not happened,” Mantis said.

Liquid blinked. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“But I thought you would have liked, well, not being so passive and anxious all the time anymore. I would have thought you’d see this as a positive change in your life.”

Mantis shrugged helplessly. “It is nice to find myself more capable of being assertive,” he said, “and my worldview has changed very little - it’s only that I get angry at things now, instead of frightened. But… it seems I have lost… I lost my… I don’t know, Eli. It didn’t use to be so difficult for me to admit I… I care for you. I think, somehow, I was happier with you back then. I am not sure I am psychologically capable of feeling that happy anymore.”

“…”

“And when I do something to upset you, it is often hard for me to feel anything other than some kind of petty vindication. I get mad at you too easily. I worry I…”

“It’s fine, Mantis,” Liquid said, “I’m sure I changed, too.”

“Not the way I have.”

“No… but, I’d rather be with you the way you are now than not have you at all.” He paused. “I shouldn’t even be letting this bother me in the first place.”

Mantis slowly nodded.

Liquid stood - well, half-stooped, there wasn’t much vertical space here - and wiped the salt off his pants. Again he didn’t know what to say. He supposed he felt marginally better now that they’d cleared the air about the whole serial-killer-personality-absorption thing, but Liquid still didn’t know what to think about the fact that someone else had even been _capable_ of ripping away the personality Liquid had essentially given Mantis as an adolescent. Plus, and while he was sure he _would_ get used to - and maybe even learn to like - this new, cold, possessive and hostile Mantis, he hadn’t yet.

And it was uncomfortable.

“We still have the shared memories of everything we went through together, Eli,” Mantis said.

“I know,” Liquid said, “but nowadays, the two of us have been through a lot more on our own.”


	26. Tie Your Mother Down 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EVA drops by Mother Base for very important reasons which totally don't have anything to do with her son.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - discussion of Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 2,940

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (omg the original author's note about how aireyv should have uploaded this before chapter 5 of feetground... i.... i feel into the same trap......... -pp)

December 1994, Mother Base

“Have you ever thought about asking for a codename change?”

“Huh? Nah, I think ‘Mellow Zebra’ fits me pretty well. Why? You don’t like ‘Sly Ibex’?”

“No, I like my codename just fine. It’s just- well, the option’s there, isn’t it?”

“Is this about that guy who just joined A through S rank unit three? The guy who set a world record during the Barcelona Olympics and then got caught doping and joined some French terrorist group before he ended up here?”

“Yeah, him — I heard the name Commander Ocelot picked out for him-“

“These names are randomly selected, don’t kid yourself.”

“Hey, it was _Swift Cheetah_ , he did it on purpose this time.”

“Man! If he was going to put two seconds of thought into any of these codenames, he should have called me _Dashing_ Zebra. Or _Handsome_ Zebra.”

“That sounds stupid. Anyway, he requested a different codename, and you’ll never guess what it is.”

“What?”

“Running Man.”

“No way.”

“I swear.”

“Oh my god. He asked to change _Swift Cheetah_ to _Running Man_ , and meanwhile Coward Duck over in A through S one is completely fine with his name?”

“I guess if you’re already in a unit with ‘Machinegun Kid’ and freaking ‘Shotmaker’…”

“But those are _cool_ names. Hey, Liquid! You’re going to wear a hole in the floor at this rate!”

“Huh?” Liquid looked up with a start, stopping his pacing in his tracks.

“What’s eating you, kid?” Sly Ibex said from where he was sitting on a bed across from Mellow Zebra.

“Er. Nothing. Just thinking.”

“He forgot to snap at me for calling him ‘kid’,” Sly Ibex muttered, “he must really be preoccupied about something.”

“Oh, is it about EVA coming today?” Mellow Zebra said.

Liquid didn’t want to answer him.

“What’s she got to do with anything?” Sly Ibex said.

“I heard from someone on the intel team that EVA is actually Liquid’s _mom_.”

“Really?” He turned back to Liquid. “Is that true??”

“Yes,” Liquid said grudgingly, “but I haven’t seen her since I was thirteen.”

Mellow Zebra checked his watch. “She should be getting here any minute now. Liquid, you should go see her.”

“…”

“Go on! I mean, for God’s sake, she’s your mom. You have to at least go say hi.”

“Fine,” Liquid grumbled, sweeping out of the room, more so he wouldn’t be pestered about it than anything else.

“So anyway,” he heard Sly Ibex say behind him, “what I _really_ want to know is why that guy in A through S three insisted his name be changed to Red Blaster. We wear green.”

“Isn’t he colorblind? I heard he’s red-green colorblind.”

“That actually explains it…”

Although Liquid did head in the general direction of the command platform, which was where anyone coming into Mother Base who wasn’t a member of Outer Heaven would land upon coming in, he purposefully dawdled, walking over the bridge between the command platform and the combat platform instead of taking one of the Jeeps. He even declined a ride when someone who _did_ take one of the Jeeps drove past him.

Liquid had been, to put it mildly, surprised when Ocelot told him that EVA was going to be dropping by, even though he’d assured him (when the panic had probably settled in on his features) that her reason for coming had very little to do with him: ever since, what did he say again, 1985 or ’86? ’87? EVA had been periodically working with Outer Heaven a handful of times a year… definitely not a member or employee, sometimes best described as an independent subcontractor, usually just referred as a “contact”, “ally”, or “someone we’re coordinating on this with”. The last time she’d worked with Outer Heaven on anything had been about four months before Liquid had come here again.

Of course Liquid knew EVA. What he had just said about not seeing her since he was thirteen was true, though. Additionally, it wasn’t until that age that he had even _met_ her in the first place - he’d had a series of awkward encounters with her throughout the fall and winter of that year, where she’d _try_ to step up as his mother and he’d just be bitter, resentful, purposefully abrasive and mostly just uncomfortable. Then she’d just stopped showing up one day and by his fourteenth birthday, Liquid had entirely given up on the possibility of ever seeing or hearing from her again and (although he wouldn’t admit it, and Mantis was the only one who ever knew) he felt just a little bit… _abandoned_. He even _regretted_ all the times he’d lashed out at her about how she wasn’t even his real mother, she was just a surrogate and his real mother was in Japan, probably had no idea what had been done with her egg cells, and didn’t matter anyway because Liquid was a fucking _clone_.

And… now she was showing up at Outer Heaven and he was, yes, kind of obliged to go say hi, at the very least. Maybe he’d get lucky and she wouldn’t recognize him now that he was older and had shorter hair.

“In need of moral support?” Mantis said dryly as Liquid was starting to approach the command platform.

“Nn.”

“I’m afraid I cannot forewarn you of what she will say or do when she sees you,” he said, falling into step beside Liquid. “It seems she got those accursed cybernetic implants sometime between now and when we last saw her.”

“Lovely.”

At least now he could discount Mantis saying things like _I actually really like her, Eli_ or _She’s just doing her best_ or _She really does care about you, Eli, maybe you shouldn’t be so mean to her_. He’d done that back then, but not only was he incredibly sarcastic and foul-tempered now, but he also had an automatic dislike of anyone who went to any lengths to conceal their thoughts from him. Part of the reason why he hated Ocelot.

“A small part, at this point,” Mantis said, his voice cool.

“We’re not going to have this conversation right now, Mantis,” Liquid growled.

“I know, I know…”

It was easy to spot EVA when they got within visual range of the landing pad. After all, while there were women with long blonde hair around on Mother Base, Outer Heaven rules required that hair over a certain length needed to be kept tied back or pinned up (or in some cases, tucked under a scarf) for safety reasons… and EVA, being not a part of Outer Heaven, evidently didn’t need to follow those rules.

She must have caught Venom’s glance over at Liquid and Mantis approaching, because she turned around and, after a second of squinting at them in the bright sunlight, broke into a huge grin. Liquid was actually a bit surprised at how little she’d changed over the past nine years - more lines on her face perhaps, and thinner than he remembered her - but she looked almost like only months had passed since the last time she’d saw him instead of close to a decade. Or, at least, everything but her smile said that.

“ _Eli_ ,” she said warmly, “V told me you joined up!”

“Ah… hello.”

“Hello,” Mantis echoed, standing pointedly behind Liquid.

So, he’d filled the minimum obligation, could he go now-?

“V,” EVA said, turning to Venom, “do you mind if I borrow him for a minute? I haven’t seen him in forever and I’d like to have a word somewhere private.”

Venom just shrugged his consent.

Damn.

EVA grabbed Liquid’s wrist before he could really decide to just make a run for it, said “You can come too if you like” to Mantis, and dragged him off in the direction of the command offices. Liquid threw a wide-eyed ‘Please, please Father for the love of God call her off’ look over his shoulder at Venom, who only blinked in apparent confusion at Liquid’s obvious distress.

EVA commandeered Ocelot’s office (why Ocelot’s office of all places??) and closed the door behind them, then whirled around to face Liquid and Mantis, back pressed against the door. Mantis gave her a suspicious look. Liquid wondered how much she already knew.

“So,” she said, smiling again, “nine years is a long time, isn’t it?”

“…”

“…”

“……”

EVA sighed. “I’m just trying to catch up with you, Eli. How have you been doing?”

Liquid still refused to say anything, so she turned her attention to Mantis instead.

“How have _you_ been doing?” she said, “I got updates on Eli every so often, and I knew you didn’t accompany him to England but I never heard about what you _did_ do. What have you been up to these past few years?”

“I have no desire to talk to you,” Mantis said flatly.

EVA blinked, then frowned. That’s right, the last time she had seen Mantis he had still been entirely nonverbal and his literal entire personality could probably be summed up with ‘curious, a little shy, might be friendly once you get past that?’. She looked at Eli again, her face serious this time.

“Ocelot told me about what happened in the POW camp.”

Liquid stiffened. “He did? …how much?”

“Everything. What the Iraqis did to you…”

“…oh.” If she was singling out the Iraqis, that probably meant that Ocelot hadn’t told her what _he’d_ done, but still… Mantis glanced at him, then glared at EVA. Yeah. She shouldn’t have brought it up.

“Look, Eli, I’m sorry. I wish we could have gotten there sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Liquid said calmly. It was really strange, actually, how calm he felt right now.

_You’re mildly dissociating_ , Mantis informed him mentally.

_Oh, okay._

“It’s just good that you’re here now,” EVA went on, “and I want to know how you’ve been doing. Have you been settling in well? Avoiding making any enemies?”

“Everything’s fine,” Liquid said.

“Is it true you’re sleeping with Ocelot?”

The question was posed so casually, yet so randomly, that it took Liquid several seconds to process it while Mantis stared at EVA in surprise.

“What?” Liquid said blankly.

“Ocelot told me—“

“Why did he tell you.”

“So that I wouldn’t find out from someone else who might ‘give me the wrong impression’,” she said, then shifted her weight to one hip, crossing her arms sternly. “But it’s already too late. Eli, I don’t approve.”

Mantis’ demeanor instantly changed. Dimly Liquid realized that the most comfortable course of action now would be to jump out the window, then remembered that Ocelot’s office didn’t have a window.

“You have no idea how bad it really is,” Mantis told EVA, “they are constantly going at it and Ocelot has a penchant for giving him eye infections. He had one just last week.”

“What?” EVA said, flabbergasted, “eye infections.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Liquid said, covering his face with his hands.

“Evidently Ocelot has an oculolinctus kink,” Mantis said, his voice dripping with disgust.

“Oh my g- Eli, you _let_ him do that to you?!”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Liquid said firmly. “I’m not talking about my sex life with my mother. No. It’s not happening.”

“You called me your mother,” EVA said in shock.

“Erk.”

“No, nevermind, don’t change the subject,” she said, waving her hand and frowning severely, “look, Eli, I don’t care about the details of your sex life and quite frankly I don’t _want_ to know. What I’m more concerned about is the fact that you thought it was a good idea to jump into a relationship with a known sexual sadist 28 years your senior only _weeks_ after V dragged your bleeding broken body out of a prison camp!!”

“Well, it sounds bad when you put it like _that_ ,” Liquid started.

“I nearly shot Ocelot when he told me about it!”

“You should have,” Mantis said.

“The only reason why I didn’t was because he told me that you were the one who initiated, Eli,” EVA said. “So, is that true? Was the whole thing your idea?”

“Yes, of course it was, obviously,” Liquid said at the exact same time Mantis said, “No, Ocelot groomed him.”

“Mantis, that’s _enough_ ,” Liquid said, holding his head in his hands again.

“He got to him while he was still emotionally fragile after everything that happened,” Mantis snarled, “he took advantage of his denial about being _raped_.”

“Mantis!!”

“Both of you calm down,” EVA said, in such a mom voice that they both shut up. “Mantis - I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because I know Ocelot is certainly _capable_ of something like that, but I want to hear Eli’s side of the story, too.”

“He does not exactly have an objective view of the situation,” Mantis said dryly.

“Oh, because _you_ do?” Liquid snapped, “you never liked Ocelot, and you’re possessive, controlling, paranoid, and you have _no_ sense of boundaries or privacy-—“

“This discussion isn’t going to go anywhere if you two keep snapping at each other!” EVA said.

“Where is this discussion even supposed to go?!”

“Eli,” EVA said, “I think you should break up with Ocelot.”

“Absolutely,” Mantis seconded.

“What?” Liquid said, “no. Why?”

“I’d rather believe that he didn’t groom you and isn’t intentionally taking advantage of you, but that still doesn’t make it a healthy relationship,” EVA said firmly. “It was a bad idea to get involved with him like that, you should have given yourself more time to recover after everything you went through.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Liquid said, “really, it doesn’t _matter_ —“

“ _And_ he’s almost three decades older than you.”

“I’m an adult!”

“And he’s your commanding officer!”

“It’s not like that comes up during sex!!”

“You _should_ break it off with him,” Mantis said, “see? Even your mother agrees.”

Liquid sputtered. “I-It’s _my_ life, _my_ body, I can make my _own_ decisions-!”

“Mantis, we’re never going to get anywhere pushing him on the defensive like this,” EVA muttered.

“I know,” Mantis sighed, “I have been trying to convince him to call it off since day one and-“

“ _Convince_ me?! All you do is yell at me and pick fights with Ocelot!!”

“-I should have known that having someone back me up on this would not help, Venom has already expressed his concern several times to no avail.”

“That explains why he’s being so defensive,” EVA said.

“I am not being _defensive!!_ ”

“Eli, we’re not trying to force you to do anything,” EVA said gently, “we’re just concerned.”

“Well it’s none _of_ your concern!”

“Yes it is,” Mantis said, “it is only natural to be concerned when someone you care for is-“

“What is this, a bloody _intervention?_ You’re here to sit me down and talk me out of my addiction to Ocelot’s _cock?!_ ” He threw his arms up angrily. “I don’t want to _have_ this talk!! I’m leaving!”

He shoved past EVA, opened the door with more force than necessary, and stalked out of Ocelot’s office, slamming the door behind him so hard a poster on the wall slipped off and fluttered to the floor.

“That went well,” Mantis said after several moments of silence. EVA scrubbed a hand over her face.

“Perfect,” she said, “the first time I’ve seen him at all since he was thirteen, and he ends up shouting at me.”

“He will come around, at least on some level,” Mantis assured her, “at least, with Venom and I he realizes that our objections to his ‘relationship’ with Ocelot come from a place of genuine concern for him. He does not like it when anyone points out that it is unhealthy, but he eventually calms down and comes to think of the criticism as being a misguided attempt at kindness as long as it is from someone he likes.”

“Well… that’s good,” EVA said, “at least he won’t get it into his head that we’re just trying to ruin his fun… or whatever it is he sees in Ocelot.”

“…”

“Although, V just mentioned to me that he doesn’t really mind Eli sleeping with Ocelot, only that he thinks it’s a little strange.”

“He tries to be the unbiased party,” Mantis said, rolling his eyes. “He still thinks that sooner or later Liquid is going to have second thoughts about Ocelot and come to his father for advice, and Venom is already planning on advising him to end their relationship.”

“Honestly, he probably has the best idea out of all of us,” EVA said, “the only trouble is that Eli is so _stubborn_ …”

“…any second thoughts he might have will just result in him doubling down on the whole arrangement. Yes. I know.”

They both sighed.

“I already tried to get Ocelot to call it off from his end,” EVA said as they exited the office - Liquid was nowhere to be seen - “but since Eli is apparently the one who initiates every time, well… Ocelot says he just can’t say no to him.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Mantis said acidly, “why would he say no to an offer he manipulated into being given in the first place?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask why you’re so uncharitable towards Ocelot.”

“…I cannot read his mind. Naturally I will assume the worst.”

“You shouldn’t be able to read my mind, either,” EVA said, “yet we seem to be getting along pretty well.”

“Yes, well,” Mantis said, “evidently we have some things in common…”

Meanwhile, in the men’s barracks on the combat platform.

“Wow,” Sly Ibex said as Liquid threw himself facedown on his bed and screamed into a pillow, “that bad, huh?”


	27. Zebras Are Reactionaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because it's a fake vacation doesn't mean you can't have some real fun.
> 
> Explicit - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 4,689

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just to be clear, the title here is taken from the Simon and Garfunkel song "At the Zoo"... I'm not sure how popular it is, it seems pretty obscure, so I thought I'd say so...)
> 
> I wrote this for probably my biggest fan, PsychoHayseed! Taking place between chapters four and five of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_. (I don't remember if this was a request or if I just thought you'd like it... either way, I didn't know if you wanted fluff or smut, so I just did both.)

September 2004, Georgia. The Zoo Atlanta.

The first thing that happens upon walking into the Zoo ATL is the smell of flamingos hitting you like a sack of bricks.

Of course, with his gas mask, Mantis couldn’t smell a damn thing and with his SEP field, none of the other zoogoers noticed Liquid making a face at the stench. Of course, his reaction was pretty exaggerated - a lifetime on battlefields, bad smells won’t bother one anymore - but any attempt to amuse Mantis with it fell completely flat and after a moment Liquid just opened the map and started looking for the reptile house, figuring they should just go straight there.

“Must we?” Mantis said dryly.

“What? I’ve seen most of the animals here in the wild plenty of times, so I figure I might as well go look at something cute.”

“Hm… well, I do not really have an opinion on the matter… just remember, Eli, that we are only here to establish an-“

“—alibi, yes, I know, but as I’ve _said_ — there’s no reason we can’t _enjoy_ ourselves with this!” He shoved the map in his pocket and threw an arm around Mantis’ shoulders, grinning. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a _proper_ vacation, hasn’t it? …come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure we ever have…”

“Weekends off don’t count?”

Liquid gave him a sly look, and didn’t answer. “Come on,” he said, “the reptile house is near the back, we can see the other animals on the way there anyway.”

“Don’t forget to take pictures, it would defeat the whole point if you did…”

“Of course!” He held up the camera. “Now, come on, Mantis!!”

The Zoo Atlanta was, in terms of square footage, a very small zoo - it fit all the animals in via extremely efficient mapping that forced guests to meander and walk in circles even if they were trying to head straight for something. Somewhere around the monkeys Mantis’ attention was caught by something in the bushes, which he stopped to pick up and show to Liquid: a tiny, bright green praying mantis perched calmly on his finger.

“Very nice,” Liquid said, leaning forward to examine it, then looked up at him. “And I’m sure it was minding its own business before you came along.”

“…I like it.”

“You can’t keep it, Mantis, you can carry it around if you like but I expect you to put it back in its bush when we’re about to leave.”

Mantis got embarrassed and defensive. “I didn’t ask to—“

“I don’t want to have to compete with an _insect_ for your attention,” Liquid said, then pressed a quick kiss to Mantis’ cheek before he could stop him. “But you’re cute when you’re excited.”

“…”

They continued on their way to the reptile house, now with Mantis’ ridealong new friend. His fascination - and, quite frankly, enamorment - with bugs, particularly mantids, was a trait of his that had been consistent ever since he first decided he liked them, back when he was eleven or so; Liquid had never been terribly interested but he’d always found it pretty endearing, the way Mantis’ eyes lit up when he was able to coax one of them into his hands. To that end he’d whipped out the camera when Mantis wasn’t paying attention and actually managed to get a pretty good shot of him with the praying mantis on his hand visible before he noticed and got annoyed.

“What?” he said innocently, still holding up the camera, “I told you, it’s _adorable_.”

“Eli…”

“It is! Let me keep the picture, I thought it came out rather well,” he added, checking the digital display. The shot wasn’t centered very well, so either Liquid would have to crop it… with a pair of scissors, if necessary… or call it ‘artistic’. But it _was_ cute, as far as he was concerned. Mantis rolled his eyes.

“Very well, but I will be taking some pictures of my _own_ later tonight.”

It took Liquid a second to catch Mantis’ drift but he grinned when he did.

And if Liquid was amused by Mantis carrying around the praying mantis, he had nothing on how Mantis felt when they got to the reptile house and Liquid found the zoo’s black mamba — it was love at first sight. He actually gasped out loud when he saw it - practically _squeed_ \- and immediately took up residence in front of its tank, camera out, and when the black mamba got curious enough to slither up to the glass and flick its tongue out at him, he mimicked the gesture.

“Sometimes I can hardly believe you are a _grown man_ , Eli,” Mantis said dryly.

“I’m not the one walking around with a bug in my hand,” Liquid said, turning around to look at him, then pointed at the black mamba. “ _Look_ at it, Mantis, isn’t it just _precious?_ It looks like it has a _smile_ on its little face.”

Mantis didn’t respond outside of rolling his eyes - affectionately, though, affectionately. It was true that one couldn’t help getting attached to animals they’d named themselves after at some point, and truthfully Mantis couldn’t suppress the little twinge of nostalgia either. Liquid had already had the White Mamba name stripped from him by the time Mantis met him, but still… the world had been a different place back then. Whether or not it really was less complicated Mantis didn’t know or care, but for him it had been straightforward. No need to worry about— Mantis shook himself. Fake vacation or not, he wasn’t about to ruin it by brooding over his and Liquid’s tangled relationship with Ocelot.

Instead he said, “You know, Eli, there _was_ a certain amount of irony in you taking the name of the mamba back then.”

“Is that so?” Liquid said, having gone back to taking pictures. “Because it _is_ so cute? That’s hardly the first thing one would say when they think about a child soldier…”

“No, no, you were a cute child.”

“Mantis…”

“I only meant that mambas are generally shy creatures. You, on the other hand…”

“I know they tend to be shy,” Liquid said, “but - well, I suppose it’s just like the fact that not everyone is going to appreciate how adorable these snakes are — but not a lot of people _know_ that mambas would rather flee than fight. They’re so venomous that their reputation precedes them, and so they’re cast as aggressive even though they’re not.”

“You, meanwhile, were _actually_ aggressive,” Mantis said. Then he paused, cocking his head in thought. “Come to think of it…”

“Hm?”

“Back when we were children, and I was developing my own personality… it was based off of yours, everyone knows that. The parts of you that you didn’t want to accept, you simply projected onto me — so I was fearful, and uncertain… and _shy_.”

“…”

“Isn’t that interesting?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liquid said flippantly. Mantis snorted. He knew he had a point, it was only logical. Young Liquid was nervous around people, especially new people, so he simply dumped that entire personality trait on young Mantis after years of compensating for it precisely by _being_ so aggressive even when he didn’t need to. Whether or not that helped him overcome it was an entirely different matter.

Liquid had changed more since then than he’d ever bring himself to admit; in some respects he’d changed almost as much as Mantis had. His occasional bouts of depression hadn’t started getting bad until he was in his mid-teens, and now that Mantis thought about it, it had been around that time that he’d started having serious problems with his impulse control, hyperactivity, and insomnia. Mantis had always just thought of all that as being part of typical pubescent mood swings, but… did everyone go through those like that…? He knew _he_ hadn’t, but that was probably understandable… he made a mental note to compare Liquid’s teenage years to the rest of FOXHOUND’s memories of their own when they got back to headquarters.

“Mantis? You seem preoccupied by something.”

“What…?”

Liquid raised his eyebrows at him, then looked down at the praying mantis still sitting on Mantis’ hand. “Your new friend is going to fly away is you don’t pay enough attention to it, I’m sure.”

“Oh.” He also looked down at it. “Only if it’s male, Eli. The females usually cannot, they tend to be too large.”

They stayed at the zoo until closing, then Mantis - admittedly reluctantly - put the praying mantis back in the bush he found it in and after a quick stop at the gift shop to get something for Wolf, they headed back to the hotel. With nothing else to do for the evening, Liquid took a shower and then, as soon as he was out - not bothering with anything more than a towel - immediately grabbed Mantis, flopped onto the bed, and kissed his neck, wanting him to make good on his idle threat from earlier.

“Are you sure, Eli…? We could go watch a movie or something…”

“You’re just being evasive, Mantis. And besides, I don’t feel like going out anymore today, staying at the hotel is fine by me… as long as it’s with you…”

“Hmm…”

Well, if Liquid wanted it so badly… perhaps Mantis should see if he couldn’t get him in over his head…?

Liquid had been the one to tell Mantis to throw some ‘for fun’ things in his suitcase, and while Mantis had obliged him he hadn’t said at the time what he was bringing, so the rope was… a little bit of a surprise, but not exactly an unwelcome one. Mantis was fond of bondage for reasons Liquid never did really understand — he knew at least _part_ of it was that he liked how it looked, purely from an aesthetic point of view, and as such he was particularly fascinated by the intricate knotwork of shibari. Although, he didn’t do it too often because he felt it would be “overplayed” if he did, so it ended up being some kind of special treat that, honestly, Liquid could go either way on so he suspected the person being _treated_ here was Mantis even if the man wouldn’t admit to it.

The point was that Liquid was now naked and bound pretty thoroughly, kneeling on the bed (Liquid figured this was for the sake of his knees - so he might be in for the long haul tonight) more or less immobilized, back forced to arch somewhat uncomfortably, legs spread; Mantis had put a loop of rope around Liquid’s neck just above his collar, and it pulleyed around his elbows and attached to the rope around his legs (his calves were strapped to their respective thighs) in such a way that Liquid _technically_ had the freedom of movement to press his legs together or curl in on himself to take the tension off his spine, but if he did either of those things then the opposite ends of the rope around his neck would pull and he would choke. After a little bit of supervised experimenting Liquid confirmed that pulling his knees apart and/or arching his back again would take the pressure back off.

“Very inventive,” he murmured, his mouth dry already.

“Mm.”

“Are you… going to fuck me like this?”

“Perhaps,” Mantis said, leaning towards him with one knee on the bed in front of him, and taking his jaw in one hand. “If you behave.”

“Oh, I _will_ , Mantis—“

The fact that Mantis had also brought along that little remote-control vibrating prostate toy was much less of a surprise but also, again, not an unwelcome one. And then the camera, which Liquid had been expecting — still, his face burned when Mantis turned it on him, and he squirmed even though he _knew_ Mantis was going to delete every trace of these pictures by the next morning. He was in a humiliating enough position to begin with - so helpless and exposed - hard proof of it, even though it was temporary, was downright mortifying. Almost too much for him, really, and then Mantis went and pulled out the bottle of lube and worked in the toy… and turned it on… and let Liquid get hopelessly worked up before taking another round of pictures. Because being tied up, exposed, helpless, and embarrassed, wasn’t enough if it didn’t come along with a dripping erection and an obvious sex toy sticking out of his asshole.

Liquid was _so_ glad that these pictures were all going to get deleted.

“If it were not for the ‘vacation’ photos, Eli,” Mantis said, “I would definitely keep some of these pictures. I think they’re coming out rather well.”

“Y-You… have such an i- _interesting_ definition of ‘rather well’, Mantis…”

Just for that comment Mantis clicked the toy up another setting - and they hadn’t even _started_ on the lowest one, although granted Liquid had eventually gotten used to vibrators and was no longer so easily overwhelmed by them. At least, as long as Mantis didn’t set them on the _most_ intense settings, which he did only sparingly.

Still, the rumbling against his prostate did make Liquid bite his lip and writhe, his legs jerking together on instinct — he went a little lightheaded before he remembered that he was supposed to keep them spread. Damn, it was so hard to concentrate on Mantis’ instructions like this…

“Say, Eli, are you hungry?”

“H-Huh…?”

Mantis leaned towards him again, jaw in hand again. He slipped his thumb into the corner of Liquid’s mouth, and Liquid sucked on it obediently. “I was just thinking about getting some takeout. What are you in the mood for?”

Food was kind of the last thing on his mind right now… did Mantis mean for afterward? Or, oh god, he didn’t mean he was going to call some delivery right now, just so he could answer the door with Liquid still on the bed like this? Liquid’s eyes flicked over to the room entrance. He _probably_ wouldn’t be visible from the doorway, but he wasn’t sure, and just the _thought_ was making his heart race dangerously.

Mantis patted his cheek. “Oh, relax, I won’t do that to you.”

“Th-then what… what are you-?”

“There are a few carry-out restaurants within walking distance of this hotel,” Mantis said, slowly enough that Liquid could actually focus on what he was saying despite the… well, everything. “I thought I’d go get you some dinner.”

“And…” Liquid tensed as it clicked in his brain. “A-And just leave me h-here, like th-this?? A-Alone??”

“It’s not the first time we have done it that way, Eli.”

“B-But you’ve never e-entirely left the building b-before! Before you’ve o-only gone to the next r-room, or a few rooms o-over… l-leaving the whole building, M-Mantis, I… I’m not s-sure about this…” He trailed off. Mantis ran his hand back through his still-wet hair.

“You will do fine,” he cooed.

“B-But… what if I n-need you…??”

“I won’t be going any further than a half-mile or so, I will still be able to hear you and if you do need me, I will be able to return within minutes.”

“O-Oh… I s-suppose that’s…” Liquid squirmed again, his back seizing as shivers ran up his spine. “I-If you want to, Mantis… I’ll just w-wait for you to c-come back.”

“Will you?” He leaned a little closer. “You’ll behave yourself while I’m gone? won’t make too much noise?”

“Y-Yes… I mean, n-no, I won’t make t-too much noise.”

“Won’t try to worm your way out of your binds?”

“No, M-Mantis.”

“Or tip yourself over so you can rub yourself against the mattress?”

“N-No, Mantis, I w-won’t.”

“And,” Mantis said, threading his fingers back through his hair again, “if you do need me… you _will_ tell me as much, won’t you? You will notify me if it hurts or is too much instead of just trying to suffer through it.”

“Yes, Mantis, I-I will… I will…”

“Good boy.” Mantis nuzzled him, then stood up, slipping the vibrator’s remote into his pocket. “I will be back shortly, then.”

“Y-Yes, Mantis,” Liquid said, then gasped as Mantis clicked up the setting again before leaving the room. Oh _shit_ , he was pretty sure this was the highest setting—- the door lock, and the chain lock, both engaged behind Mantis. The ‘do not disturb’ sign that had been lying on the buffet was missing now, so that was likely hanging on the doorknob. No one would come bother Liquid in this state.

Which was good, because Liquid was bothered enough on his own. With the toy on such a high setting, he was rapidly losing what little composure he’d had. He wanted so, so badly to grind up against something, give himself a little friction - it didn’t matter if it was rubbing his aching, neglected cock against anything other than thin air, or grinding his ass down against something to push the toy harder against his prostate, _really_ make him see stars. (He tried his heel, but ended up choking himself.) Liquid was left bucking his hips ineffectually, periodically cutting off his own air as his limbs shook.

He did his best to stifle his moans. He could hear people moving around in the hallway right outside the door.

Mantis, meanwhile, despite telling Liquid the onus of saying if and when he’d had enough was on him, kept an eye on Liquid’s thoughts as he walked towards the restaurant. (For maximum torment, and since Liquid hadn’t given his opinion, he’d picked the furthest one of all the ones he’d been considering.) So far so good. He was rapidly getting dazed with pleasure and excitement, a little bit on the overwhelmed side, but as of right now he was _really_ enjoying himself and didn’t want to stop. Nothing to worry about.

Mantis really didn’t want to admit he got a bit of a thrill from having this much power over Liquid.

He liked to tell himself that he only enjoyed it because _Liquid_ did, but truthfully he couldn’t quite believe that. Past actions that he kind of regretted - times he’d wondered if he’d gone too far - arguments he’d cared more about winning than sparing Liquid’s feelings — maybe, Mantis thought, he shouldn’t trust himself in a relationship like this. Even if Liquid trusted him wholly and felt confident letting Mantis push him around like this… maybe Mantis wasn’t being careful enough. Maybe he was a little wary of himself and his own tendencies…

But no, Liquid was fine. He _was_ enjoying himself, even if, truth be told, it had taken him a _little_ while to warm up to the whole orgasm delay/denial thing Mantis admittedly liked doing to him. Making him beg for permission to finish… maybe the first few times it had been a little dubious, but in the brief time between the start of their relationship and when Ocelot came in like a wrecking ball, taking a completely dispassionate role in the sex had been starting to drive Mantis _nuts_. He _had_ to throw in something for _himself_ , too. In some ways, the dumb ‘follow my rules or face punishment’ sex game had been a welcome relief.

 _mantis mantis oh god i can hear_ people _walking around outside the door oh god_

 _It’s a hotel, Eli_ , Mantis told him, equal parts condescending and comforting, _they do that._

 _no no no i mean people are walking right past the door and they_ stop _and i think they just stand there and they just stand there for a while before they start walking again mantis i think they’re trying to_ listen _to me_

_Are you being quiet?_

_yes yes i’m trying to anyway mantis i really am i swear_

_Then there’s nothing to worry about_ , Mantis assured him.

Mantis didn’t doubt that Liquid really was trying to follow his order to keep his voice down, but he also didn’t doubt he was failing miserably at it. With the toy on its highest setting, it was little wonder that Liquid was half-overstimulated already… just to confirm, Mantis found and glanced in the mind of one of the people passing through the hallway that Liquid complained about. …yes, they could definitely hear Liquid, or rather, they could hear stifled moaning coming from a room with a ‘do not disturb’ sign. They stopped and listened for a moment, wondering if the voice from the room belonged to someone injured or otherwise having a serious problem, but then came to the conclusion that it was sexual and decided to mind their own business. Good.

He considered advising Liquid to try sounding less like a murder victim, but decided against it. Better to let him think no one was noticing anything, Liquid might get really turned on by exhibitionism and public humiliation _in theory_ but the closer it came to being an actual possibility, the more he freaked out. Mantis didn’t want him to freak out.

Mantis had just entered the restaurant when he noticed Liquid _really_ starting to get overwhelmed - he was about to reach out to him himself when Liquid gave in.

_mantis please it’s too much_

_Do you want to go down a setting?_

_yes please it hurts i don’t want it this much please_

Another upside to being psychic: Mantis didn’t have to reach into his pocket and fiddle with the remote in order to lower the intensity of the vibrations on Liquid’s toy. Instead he just folded his arms and pretended to consider the menu before getting in line. (Not that anyone was really paying attention to him anyway, it just made _him_ feel better…)

_Is that better, Eli?_

_much better yes thank you i just need to catch my breath i’m fine mantis thank you_

Catch his breath indeed. His thought process was shot. Not long after that, before Mantis had even gotten his food, he heard Liquid’s thoughts blank out completely as he finally managed to tip over the edge to a rather protracted prostate orgasm. Of course Mantis kept the vibrations going right through his orgasm, and afterwards, too, when Liquid was starting to feel extra sensitive — not as much as he would with a _proper_ climax, but sensitive nonetheless. Mantis had just collected Liquid’s dinner and left the restaurant when Liquid complained again.

_too much please mantis just a bit lower i can’t take this_

_Certainly_.

_thank you that’s better mantis thank you god it hurt, my body hurts_

The exchange repeated itself several more times on Mantis’ way back to the hotel. He was still a few minutes out when Liquid, desperate and almost hysterical, clumsily reached out to Mantis again.

_mantis PLEASE god this is too much i NEED to finish_

_Eli, there isn’t much I can do if I am not there right now._

_it hurts mantis it hurts it’s too much, too much_

_You’re just overwhelmed…_

_god… yes yes mantis i’m overwhelmed oh god everything is too much i want this to be over with i need to finish i need to be done with this please mantis_

_Do you want to stop?_

Liquid blanked again.

 _Eli?_ Mantis prodded.

_mantis mantis mantis… god this is too much. enough. enough. enough enough ENOUGH please_

_Do you want to stop, Eli? Are you asking to stop?_

_no no no i don’t want to stop i just_

_Then what, Eli?_

_less_

Mantis rolled his eyes. _You’re already on the lowest setting, Eli_ , he told him, _but I will be back in a just a few minutes. I will take care of you when I get back, but you need to decide if-_

_no don’t make me decide mantis i can’t think please it hurts i’m tired…_

_—to decide if you want to stop now and rest before I get back and figure out what to do with you, or if you want to endure your overstimulation for another few minutes._

Just some inarticulate scribblings of thought, incoherent and entirely unhelpful. Mantis mentally prodded him again.

_What do you want, Eli?_

_stop_ , Liquid finally thought.

Mantis turned off the vibrator. Liquid’s thoughts didn’t get any less jumbled for about a full minute, and then Mantis practically heard him melting against the bedspread, not even caring that the relaxation of his spine was pulling the rope around his neck a touch too tight. Not quite tight enough to deprive him of _too_ much oxygen, though, at least from what Mantis could tell… he was just going to be _very_ light-headed by the time Mantis got back.

Liquid was indeed extremely light-headed when Mantis came back — enough that he didn’t quite realize that the chain lock undoing itself was actually Mantis’ doing until the man himself actually walked in the room. He placed a white styrofoam takeout container on the buffet and walked over to the bedside; Liquid gazed at him with unfocused eyes. He’d managed to lie on his back without killing himself, but his chest was heaving shallowly and his whole body ached, and his dick was still sticking straight up in the air, throbbing in protest for its neglect. And despite the vibrations having stopped a couple minutes ago, his ass was throbbing too and he kind of felt like his bones were still shaking…

“Are you alright?” Mantis said, reaching down and brushing a few strands of hair out of Liquid’s eyes.

“Mantis…” Liquid swallowed hard, painful and difficult against the rope, and licked his lips. “P-Please… I n-need… your cock…”

Mantis sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I take it you are perfectly fine.”

“Fuck m-me…”

“Eli, if I tried that you would only pass out on me,” Mantis said, waving his hand a little. Liquid’s bondage came partially undone, giving him back his airway and entirely releasing the tension on his spine, although his legs and wrists were still lashed together. He tiredly shifted from side to side as Mantis sat on the bed between his legs. “Hold still,” he murmured.

Liquid bit back a cry as Mantis tugged the toy out— and immediately slipped in two of his fingers, rubbing against his abused prostate with intoxicating gentleness, making Liquid’s hips jerk. “F-Fuck, Mantis— p-p-please!! P-Please, Mantis, I n-need to- I-I need— M-Mantis, l-let me f-finish, please, f-fuck…!!”

He must have sounded sufficiently desperate, because Mantis’ other hand wrapped around his erection and within a few pumps, Liquid hit a really, _really_ intense climax that he was pretty sure he’d fainted for a few seconds afterwards over. At least, the next thing he remembered he wasn’t tied up anymore, but with his psychic powers Mantis didn’t need more than a few seconds to undo even the most intricate of knots — hell, maybe Liquid had just been too dazed to notice it, even if he was still technically conscious.

Although he wasn’t sure if he qualified as technically conscious right now.

“Just rest a minute,” Mantis said softly, petting Liquid’s hair - looking down at him, somehow Liquid had ended up lying with his head in Mantis’ lap even though he honestly didn’t remember how he got here. “You can have your dinner whenever you feel up to it.”

“Okay,” Liquid mumbled sleepily, blinking slowly. Dimly he realized that the parts of his skin where the rope had been felt really raw, but he was too out of it to care right now. “What’d you get me…?”

“Sushi. I thought it would be best if I got something that did not matter if it got cold.”

“Oh… I see… well, I like sushi…”

“I know, Eli,” Mantis said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “That’s why I got it.”

“I… like you, Mantis, I love you…”

“I know. You can be so ridiculous in the ways you want to express that sometimes… but you _did_ behave yourself, very well. Good job, Eli.”

“Ah… thank you, Mantis…”

“Good boy,” Mantis murmured, “my good boy, Eli.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell the Zoo Atlanta is one of my favorite haunts? ; )


	28. Fanart 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several lovely pieces of fanart drawn by ~~My FUCKIGN GI >RLFREIONGD~~ [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _In order:_ 90s Mantis - Quiet and Wolf - Liquid at the camp - Liquid and Gabir


	29. Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's afraid.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 2,502

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon request.

March 1991, Moscow.

Ocelot was right, the war couldn’t last forever.

The Gulf War ended on the 28th of February with the expulsion of Iraq from Kuwait and the restoration of the Kuwaiti monarchy, just over a full month after Eli was taken prisoner. POWs from both sides of the conflict began to be returned to their respective home countries. Bogomol took to constantly pestering the SAS man that Ocelot had put him in contact with, asking every day - sometimes several times a day - if Eli had been returned yet. And every time it was an uncomfortable “No, he hasn’t,” followed by an assurance that these things were almost never done at all once so he’d probably be in England with the next wave of POWs released. Bogomol did his best to remain optimistic.

And then the news finally came in: The group that had been holding Eli’s squadron in particular prisoner just so happened to be, as misfortune would have it, a group of extremists who didn’t want to answer to the Iraqi government and _certainly_ not to any coalition treaties or demands. They took their set of hostages and holed up in some… _somewhere._ No one had any clue where, if it was even in Iraq or if they’d stayed on Kuwaiti soil or what…

Of course, they knew this because this group - not the only group like this in existence, but _this group_ \- sent a list of demands. The SAS man didn’t share those demands with Bogomol and Bogomol didn’t care to look in his mind for what they were; all that mattered was that along with their demands they sent photographs of their prisoners, to prove they had them. Bogomol didn’t need anyone to positively identify Eli for him. He knew the second the SAS man showed him the photo.

He was, despite assurances that the hostages would be treated well since they were of more use as human shields _alive_ than _dead_ , covered in bruises and had been clearly unable to bring himself to look at whoever was holding the camera.

Saying it was an emotional blow to Bogomol was an understatement. He managed to keep himself from screaming or fainting or bursting into tears in front of the SAS man, but as soon as he got back to his apartment he fell apart completely. And this time there was no Ocelot to ply him with vodka and hold him as he cried — which he told himself was probably for the better but _it didn’t help_.

And the next day Bogomol went back to work and tried to act as though nothing had happened. That was what he thought Eli would do in his situation: carry on.

The war didn’t last forever but it was only a matter of time until the straggling insurgents were smoked out… right? And that would be done without killing the hostages, right? Even if Eli was hurt badly - even if he came back without his limbs and face and it was like a real-life version of _Johnny Got His Gun_ , as long as Bogomol could have Eli’s _mind_ back alright he would be happy again. Even if he had to exhaustively take care of Eli for the rest of his life… he’d do it. He’d gladly do it.

All he had to do now was wait. Because he sure as hell didn’t even know where to _start_ when it came to trying to mount a rescue himself.

Bogomol tried to carry on but the quality of his work suffered. His job was simple - for him, at least, even though it was literally impossible and often incomprehensible for normal people — his role at the KGB was to read the minds of certain people slated for interrogation and, ideally, save the state the trouble of having to bribe or beat the information they wanted out of them. Cybernetic ’psychic shielding’ implants did exist, but were hardly widespread. Usually the hunt for information stopped with Bogomol.

But he couldn’t concentrate. The natural impulse of _any_ mind being invaded was to resist; ordinarily this posed no problem whatsoever for Bogomol, even the most strong-willed of suspects he could overpower with minimal effort. But with all the emotional and mental strain he was under, worrying about Eli, a prisoner, all alone in an unknown location somewhere in the Middle East, being starved and beaten and tortured… Bogomol’s ability faltered. Or rather, _he_ faltered. Quite frankly he was despondent. _Any_ amount of resistance would cause him to simply give up, no matter how easy it would be to surmount it, and quietly withdraw into himself.

Bogomol’s immediate superiors were starting to think that this _wasn’t_ just a temporary slump when Ocelot showed his face at the KGB again.

“I heard what happened,” Ocelot said, leaning against the doorway to Bogomol’s office.

There was no need to ask what he was referring to, even though Bogomol couldn’t read Ocelot’s mind. Bogomol didn’t even stir from where he was slumped over his desk with his head buried in his arms.

“I also heard,” Ocelot continued, stepping into his office and courteously closing the door behind him, “that your distress over this is causing your job performance to suffer.”

“I don’t care,” Bogomol muttered.

“You should.”

“Why?” Bogomol finally lifted his head. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I’m never going to see Eli again, what’s the point in-“

“Is that a fact?” Ocelot interrupted.

“Huh?”

“You told me a while ago that the two of you would be able to _sense_ somehow when the other died. Is Eli dead?”

“…n…no…”

Ocelot gave him a hard look. “Then what’s all the fuss about?”

Bogomol couldn’t figure out how to respond to that. He just sank into his chair, shrinking in on himself.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“You always are,” Ocelot snorted. “That’s no excuse, Bogomol. If nothing else, won’t you consider how inconvenient you’re making things for _me?_ ”

“…?”

“It doesn’t matter what type of interrogation it _is_ , you don’t just _give up_ on it,” Ocelot said, “you know that they only give you the hard cases, don’t you? So if you fail, they fall directly to _me_. And I’m too _busy_ for this, Bogomol. I have enough on my plate as it _is_.”

“…sorry,” Bogomol said meekly.

Ocelot relaxed slightly. “Stressing out over everything isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Eli,” he said, “if you continue to pull things like this, you’ll eventually lose your job here - may have to leave the Soviet Union entirely. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I… no. No, I don’t…” Leaving the Soviet Union would mean leaving Ocelot, which wasn’t a bad prospect in and of itself since Bogomol didn’t particularly like him or his company, but without Eli around… well, Bogomol just wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it on his own. Maybe he would someday, but he was certain he couldn’t right now…

“Then do your job,” Ocelot said flatly.

“Okay.”

As much as being scolded by Ocelot stung, Bogomol knew he had a point. It had also helped slightly when Ocelot sighed and told him it was commendable that he at least put forth the effort of actually showing up at the Lubyanka every day, so if he could bring himself to do _that_ then surely he could handle simple information retrieval. Bogomol just nodded.

The next day Bogomol was faced with, once again, someone whose mind he needed to flush of relevant information. He was told, as always, what sort of thing he needed to be looking for, and let into the room where the subject was handcuffed. Another KGB agent - never Ocelot, interestingly enough - watched from behind a two-way mirror (so as not to distract Bogomol) to take notes and make sure everything went smoothly (since the entire KGB, except Ocelot, was under the impression that Bogomol was only telepathic; if the subject got violent then Bogomol would have no way to defend himself without revealing that he had _other_ abilities, so he had to rely on whoever was behind the glass for safety), and the whole thing was being recorded.

Bogomol started off simple: “Your real name is _Derek Hicks_ , not Leon Seleznyov; you were born in _Missouri_ , not Dnipropetrovsk… you… you work for the CIA… and…”

He hit a snag.

“And…”

His next task was to find out what state secrets this now-confirmed spy already knew, and of those which he had already passed on to the American government, but the man was fighting Bogomol with all his might, concentrating as hard as possible on pushing Bogomol out of his mind. Again, normally this wouldn’t be a problem but Bogomol was already stressed out and probably should have slept the night before even though he didn’t and he just got so _frustrated_.

“Stop resisting me,” he hissed, tugging at his own hair, “stop it!”

“Like hell I’m gonna let you in my mind,” the man grunted, “freak.”

“Don’t— don’t call me that!”

“But it’s what you are,” the man said, “come on, no _normal_ person can do what you do. You’re a freak of nature, plain and simple.”

“Stop that!”

“The universe’s mistake!”

“Shut up!!”

“You shouldn’t even exist!”

“Shut _up!!_ ”

By the time the agent behind the two-way glass realized he should do something, it was already too late. By the time he threw open the door to the interrogation room, the spy was slumped over, blood dripping from his nose, unmoving, and Bogomol was standing in front of him, fists clenched.

The agent ran over and checked the spy’s pulse. “What the hell?” he said after a moment, slowly turning to Bogomol. “He’s… dead?”

“…”

Bogomol simply left the Lubyanka and went back to his apartment, and locked the door behind him. He sat on his bed, took off his mask, and stared blankly at the wall. And that was _all_ he did until, after evening had fallen, there was a now-familiar knock on his door.

The brief break in his protective lead barrier did allow a few outside thoughts to push their way into his mind, but Ocelot entered his apartment and closed the door behind him quick enough that they faded away again without Bogomol ever brining himself to care. Ocelot stood in the doorway to his room, arms crossed, face hard and deeply unimpressed.

“Do you have any idea how much I had to run around all afternoon cleaning up your mess?” he said dryly.

“It’s fine,” Bogomol said faintly.

“It is _now_ , but you came _very_ close to the University coming after you again, Bogomol.”

Bogomol stiffened, and finally glanced at Ocelot. The second most terrifying thing after Eli’s death was the researchers from the Leningrad University of Parapsychology coming sniffing around again and finding out that not only was Bogomol not simply telepathic, but he was also the missing research subject from seven years ago. It had only been Ocelot’s intervention that had driven them away last time…

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide, “I was just… I was frustrated. He was yelling at me, I couldn’t take it.”

“Lucky for you I was still in town,” Ocelot said, giving him a sharp look, “you blew a blood vessel in his brain — I managed to convince everyone that while it was _tangentially_ your fault, what really happened was that he strained so hard resisting your mind probe that he gave _himself_ an aneurism. But if it happens again…”

“…it’ll be too much of a coincidence,” Bogomol said, staring down at his lap, “I understand, Ocelot. I… I really didn’t mean to…”

“Intentions don’t matter, Bogomol. Don’t do it again.”

“…I’ll try…”

Ocelot frowned. “Bogomol, look at me,” he said.

Bogomol looked away before he changed his mind and hesitantly raised his face towards Ocelot. Ocelot jerked his head. It took Bogomol a moment to interpret the gesture, but then he understood, and stood up, walking over to Ocelot.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Ocelot said, his voice softer now.

“…”

“I’m not always around. Surely you’ve noticed this by now,” he said, putting his hands on Bogomol’s shoulders. “I do my utmost to keep you safe and comfortable at the KGB, but I can’t be there 24/7. I expect you to be able to look after yourself.”

“I can,” Bogomol protested weakly.

“Can you?” Ocelot replied, adjusting the neck of Bogomol’s turtleneck sweater - he hadn’t changed since he got back to his apartment — “I don’t like loose ends, Bogomol. I can keep an eye on you just as easily at the University as I can in the KGB. I haven’t simply handed you over to them out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Or because you like having a psychic in your pocket…”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I told you, I don’t make a habit of holding debts from _children_. But if you slip through the cracks, Bogomol… if you make yourself any more trouble than you’re worth than you already _are_ … as far as I’m concerned, you’d be better off dead.”

Bogomol suddenly realized that, with Ocelot’s fingers still on his neck, it would be very, very easy for him to choke him.

Moreover, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring himself to resist. He might just have let himself die.

His thoughts on that must have been written all over his hideous face - maybe it was the way his eyes flicked down to Ocelot’s hand - because Ocelot raised an eyebrow.

Gloved fingers slipped up to just under Bogomol’s jaw. “Your heart’s beating so fast,” Ocelot observed.

“Yes,” Bogomol whispered.

“You’re afraid.”

“Yes.”

“You should be, Bogomolechik.”

By time time Bogomol fully processed the use of the diminutive (and went bright red), Ocelot had already dropped his hand and taken a step back.

“I’ll be in town until the end of the week,” he said flatly, “and then I’m going back to Outer Heaven. You only have until then to use me as a shield for any mistakes caused by your stress-related dysfunction. As such, Bogomol, I’d suggest you get your act together as soon as possible.”

Bogomol nodded, realizing only now that he’d stopped breathing at some point. He tried to inhale as silently as possible, but somehow he knew Ocelot had noticed long before he had anyway.

“Eli _will_ be recovered. Rest assured that people _are_ looking for him, and I don’t mean just the British government and their allies. There’s a lot of ground to cover between Iraq and Kuwait, but the desert is hardly infinite.”

“I know,” Bogomol said. “He’ll… he’ll be fine.”

“Just leave this to the people who actually know what they’re doing.”

“…okay.”

Ocelot left after that, barely sticking around for pleasantries. Bogomol didn’t try to stop him. Once Ocelot was gone, he simply sat down on his bed again, and stared at the wall again.

And fell apart again.


	30. Tie Your Mother Down (Omake)

  
  



	31. Memes 2

  
(h/t hingabee)

  


  
(left in a comment on [sour times](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265976), but it deserves to be here too)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Except for the first one and the one accredited to hingabee, everything in this chapter is h/t Brambora.
> 
> (posting these now so that th _next_ meme update won't be totaly overloaded because boy oh boy do i have a lot of ocelmantis memes ready to go when r &v5 drops -pp)


	32. Tie Your Mother Down (Omake) 2

  
  



	33. Tie Your Mother Down (Omake) 3

  
  
  
  



	34. Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They say that life is tit for tat_ / _And that's the way I live_ / _So I deserve a lot of tat_ / _For what I've got to give_
> 
> Explicit - Rape/Non-Con, Underage  
> W/C 3,922

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aiiiight, the moment everyone's been waiting for AND HOW. This was originally requested by some anon, the basic outline was suggested by Brambora, and Dacryphilia helpfully gave me the name Kuznetsov. Shout-out to Phase7, who was present in [the discord server](https://discord.gg/HrDf3QK) when we were discussing this, and was like "Noooo Ocelot wouldn't do thaaat that's out-of-character :(" which meant I had to find a way around it. ;D

1991, Moscow, the Lubyanka.

Bogomol hadn’t had a reason to worry when his immediate superior, Kuznetsov, called him to his office, even when he told him to close the door behind him. He was a little concerned, but mostly confused, when his “Yes, comrade?” was met with a request/order for him to come around to Kuznetsov’s side of the desk, which definitely wasn’t normal… but, Kuznetsov was one of many people here who had ‘psychic shielding’ cybernetic implants, so Bogomol was completely in the dark on his intentions. He wasn’t very good at reading body language, after all.

“Does this mask ever come off?” Kuznetsov said, brushing his fingers against the filter. Bogomol leaned back away from him, just far enough to be not be touched anymore.

“No, comrade.”

“Really? Never?”

“…only when I’m at my flat.”

“Oh, I see. That changes my plans slightly.” He reached around and grabbed a handful of Bogomol’s ass.

“?!” Bogomol was more startled than anything else, but was prevented from stepping back in alarm…

“I was going to ask you to get under my desk and suck me off,” said Kuznetsov, “but since you won’t take off your mask, I can accommodate.”

“No,” Bogomol said awkwardly.

Kuznetsov stared at him. “What?”

“No… no thank you, comrade?” Bogomol honestly had no idea how he was supposed to react to being sexually harassed and he just wished Kuznetsov would take his hand off his butt.

“…I don’t think you really understand what I’m getting at here, kid,” Kuznetsov said. “I would have thought you’d been with us long enough to figure out that you _definitely_ _want_ to find favor with the people who outrank you. I’m offering you the chance to become my _favorite_.”

“I’m doing fine on my own,” Bogomol said.

“…or with ADAM, at any rate. Then, let me rephrase that: If you refuse… well, let’s just say that you’ll find staying in my good graces a lot more difficult all of a sudden. Kryuchkov likes you - likes your _unique abilities_ \- so I won’t go so far as to say you’ll find yourself out of a job… but this will start to become a rather unpleasant work environment for you.”

“I’d still rather not,” Bogomol said, then added, “comrade,” to try and defuse the situation a bit.

Kuznetsov’s hand squeezed, and Bogomol jumped a little. He didn’t like the look on his face… “Well, too bad,” he said.

“Huh?”

“I _was_ giving you a choice in the matter here, but since you chose to say ‘no’ I’m afraid I’ll have to take that choice away.”

“I don’t think that’s how it wo- aah!”

Kuznetsov had abruptly spun Bogomol around and pushed him face-first against his desk - Bogomol just barely caught himself with his hands, and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now. Fighting back wasn’t a very attractive prospect… Kuznetsov was about as tall as he was, but three or four times wider both in the shoulders and the waist. Bogomol would only get injured. And using his psychic powers, while tempting, was off the table — if he simply escaped, the Kuznetsov would be a witness and would definitely out him as being more than telepathic. If he _killed_ Kuznetsov then people would figure out that Bogomol wasn’t only telepathic anyway… especially considering that spy he’d killed a while back, right after Eli had been reported MIA. Bogomol couldn’t rely on Ocelot to cover it up again, he’d already said that Bogomol was on his own if he ever did that again.

So, Bogomol realized as he felt Kuznetsov pull down his pants and underwear just far enough to give him access, it was either this or the University. And if he went to the University… he’d never be able to leave. They knew how to keep him from escaping — and no one would come for him. Ocelot wouldn’t care, it was as convenient for him having Bogomol in the University as at the KGB, and Eli was languishing somewhere in the Middle East… there was no one else who even might have tried.

Better to just not struggle, and endure.

Bogomol said nothing as he felt Kuznetsov grip his cheeks, the sound of a zipper then something warm and hard press against his backside. Kuznetsov swore under his breath.

“You’re so goddamn tiny,” he said, “I’ll never get it in like this. Hang on a moment.”

“Okay,” Bogomol said in a small voice.

Kuznetsov moved behind him and a moment later, Bogomol felt something significantly smaller - oh, his finger - press up against his anus and then _into_ — it burned, it was uncomfortably intrusive and Bogomol did _not_ like this. He tried to squirm away but Kuznetsov pushed him harder against his desk, sure to leave bruises on his hips.

“The least you can do is sit still,” Kuznetsov said right in his ear.

“I don’t want this,” Bogomol said in an unsteady voice.

“Then pretend to.”

Kuznetsov moved his finger inside Bogomol and again Bogomol squirmed, his legs twitching at the sensation. If only he could just ignore it… maybe if he concentrated on something else? He fixed his eyes on the papers on Kuznetsov’s desk, papers he himself doubtlessly didn’t have the security clearance for, but couldn’t focus on the words as Kuznetsov added another finger.

“I’ll get you all nice and stretched out,” he said in a falsely affectionate voice, “and then we can have some fun.”

“Please… stop…”

Fingers wound into his hair and smashed his face against the desk with a loud _thunk_ of plastic-on-wood. Bogomol was almost glad he didn’t have a nose - it could have been broken like that. As it stood his gas mask protected his face from the brunt of the force, but… it still hurt…

Maybe going limp would help…? Wasn’t that the thing to do… to relax…

Maybe if his heart would stop beating so fast.

The doorknob clicked. Bogomol tensed, his eyes wide. Kuznetsov briefly paused.

The door opened. “Kuznetsov, if you’ve taken any issue with something Bogomol did, then— oh.”

Oh god. Ocelot. Why Ocelot, of all people? Of all the people who could possibly walk in on this and _see Bogomol like this_ — why _Ocelot?!_

Bogomol barely dared to peek up at him, a difficult feat with Kuznetsov still shoving his face against the desk. Ocelot’s expression was perfectly inscrutable. He didn’t say anything for a moment, then Kuznetsov dared to speak.

“Do we have a problem, ADAM?”

“This is a hell of a thing to walk in on, Kuznetsov,” Ocelot said, starting to twirl the pen he had been holding when he walked in.

“Yet you haven’t walked back out. Hmm… I wonder if there’s any merit to the rumors about you and him…”

 _Rumors?_ Bogomol wondered. Didn’t everyone just think he and Ocelot had a father/son relationship?

“His little ass is sucking my fingers in so greedily, I have to admit I have my doubts that he’s a virgin… I thought for sure he was.”

Bogomol tried to pull away while Kuznetsov was talking, but was just pressed harder against the desk. It was getting harder and harder to breathe evenly between the assault and the fact that _Ocelot_ was watching. He held his breath instead.

“I have no problem with _sharing_ , though,” Kuznetsov said to Ocelot, “in fact, if you want to get over here and have a go right now, that’s fine by me. We can team up on him. I’m sure he can take it.”

Ocelot’s expression remained inscrutable. Bogomol tried to give him as much of a pleading look as possible with the desk in the way, his fingers tightening against the wood and paper.

His heart skipped several beats as Ocelot stepped forward, his twirling pen stilling.

“Kuznetsov,” he said calmly, “do you know what this is?”

“A pen?” Kuznetsov said, then blinked. “Oh goddammit. A pen-camera. I hate you.”

“Mmm. I’ll deal with you later. Get out, you idiot.”

Kuznetsov pulled his fingers out of Bogomol so fast that he actually made an undignified little squeak of pain, then rapidly walked out of his office, face pale, closing the door behind him. Ocelot put his camera-pen back in his pocket as Bogomol’s knees gave out, falling to the floor as he gasped for breath shakily.

Ocelot gave him a moment to pull his pants back up with trembling hands before circling around the desk to stand a respectful few feet away. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… I’m fine, Ocelot.”

“Are you sure? Generally people find this kind of thing rather traumatizing.”

“I don’t want… I don’t want to talk about it right now. You- you took pictures?”

Ocelot shrugged. “Kuznetsov irritates me, I’ve been trying to get some good blackmail on him for ages. I’m not surprised it came to this, this is the same man who’s gone through two dozen secretaries in the past three years… of course, thus far it’s all been women. I suppose you just looked vulnerable to him.”

Bogomol blinked up at him, then stood. “You knew…?”

“Well, frankly, when I heard he’d summoned you to his office I thought he only finally found out that you were routing all your communications through me last year, when I was still teaching you how to read. Figured you might get in trouble for it, and didn’t want the hassle… I wasn’t expecting _this_.”

“Oh.”

He adjusted his clothing for a moment, shifting his weight uncomfortably, then glanced back up at Ocelot. “You’re going to use what he did to me as blackmail?”

“‘Blackmail’ implies I intend to simply hold this over his head,” Ocelot said with disdain, “I intend to ruin him completely. You are over the age of consent, but homosexuality is illegal in this country.”

“It is?”

“Why do you _think_ people here actually believe I’m straight? Notwithstanding the rumors about us, but no one has - or ever will have - any proof I’m not. Unlike Kuznetsov, who actually _is_ …”

“Oh,” Bogomol said again, staring at his shoes. “But… I’d be implicated, too…”

“Ah, no. Considering your age and personality _alone_ , it wouldn’t be hard to characterize this as a violent rape, so you can’t be prosecuted as a victim. Even besides that, my eyewitness testimony ends the whole debate before it even begins. …but that’s a moot point. I don’t see the reason for getting the courts involved, Kuznetsov will take care of _himself_ by the time I’m through with him.”

“…I see.”

Ocelot frowned for a moment, then stepped forward and placed his hand on Bogomol’s shoulder. “Are you absolutely certain you’re alright, Bogomol?”

“…”

“Go home early today,” he said, patting his shoulder, “I’ll make up some excuse for you and handle the Kuznetsov situation.”

“…o-okay.”

“I’ll come check up on you later. Keep your door locked until then.”

Later.

Ocelot had, in all honesty, intended to leave Russia again at around noon to return to Mother Base, but this morning’s attempted rape (well, interrupted rape, there had been penetration involved) had thrown a wrench into that plan. Ocelot cancelled his flight then called back and told Venom he need to stick around Moscow for a little longer in order to “protect his investment” and Venom said he understood and that they were doing fine without him. Ocelot only sort of doubted it. Most of the administrative stuff that Miller had handled back before he ditched them - things that Venom wouldn’t know what to do with if you gave him an instruction manual and that Ocelot was far too busy to handle himself - was now the domain of the base development unit, especially considering Mother Base itself was no longer expanding or adding platforms. Still… Ocelot wasn’t a huge fan of leaving people to their own devices for too long…

He traced the familiar route through the khrushchyovka to Bogomol’s apartment, then knocked on the door, then, when he received no answer, said loudly, “It’s me, Bogomol, let me in.”

Passing the threshold he dimly reflected that he still didn’t think lead wallpaper was very healthy.

Ocelot had been to Bogomol’s apartment so many times that at some point he’d started stocking it with vodka himself, although Bogomol didn’t drink unless Ocelot imposed a glass on him - which he usually didn’t do unless he needed a quick way to get him to shut up and go to sleep, since two glasses consistently knocked him out. Bogomol hovered at the doorway to the kitchen (literally - safe in his apartment, he was free to use all his powers _and_ take off his mask, too, which he had) as Ocelot poured himself a glass of vodka.

“Do you want some too?” he said, sitting down at the table and putting his feet up on it. Bogomol didn’t comment on that. Just shook his head. Ocelot took a sip, then set down his glass. “Now, Bogomol…”

“I’m fine, Ocelot,” Bogomol said, glancing away and frenetically running his fingers under the hem of his shorts. Again Ocelot had to wonder why Bogomol even _owned_ thigh-high stockings…

“Are you really?”

Bogomol nodded. “I— I was scared,” he said, still not looking at Ocelot, “but only because it reminded me of… of the research installation, back in Czechoslovakia, when I was a child…”

“Oh? Something like that’s happened to you before…”

“It was normal back then. I got used to it. But I never liked it.”

Ocelot frowned to himself. At the age Bogomol had been, he wouldn’t have had a good grasp of the difference between sexual abuse and routine if invasive medical examinations - to him, either one would be uncomfortable, unwanted, and violating. Quite frankly Ocelot didn’t trust Bogomol to have an accurate assessment of it even in retrospect - he didn’t seem to remember most of his life before the Phantom Pain Incident very clearly — Ocelot decided to look into that facility’s records whenever he had the time, see if any of the researchers had ever been reported by their colleagues for behaving inappropriately with the child subjects.

“I… I’m glad you showed up, Ocelot.”

“Mm.”

“You keep… doing this.” He let his feet touch the ground. “Saving me.”

“We’ve been over this, Bogomol,” Ocelot said, picking up his glass of vodka again and swishing it around disinterestedly, “I’m being kind to you in order to keep my _observance_ of you running smoothly. We don’t have to like each other.”

“I know. I know I don’t, anyway.”

Bogomol started walking towards Ocelot, and Ocelot let his feet hit the floor with a jangle of spurs as he noted the too-deliberate sway of his hips. Oh dear. Oh, _dear_.

He knew exactly where _this_ was going.

Ocelot didn’t move a muscle as Bogomol cautiously straddled his lap, still refusing to make eye contact. “I,” he said hesitantly, “owe you so much. I don’t want to be in your debt.”

“…”

“Let me… make it all up to you. Wipe the slate clean. Start over.”

He closed his eyes and started leaning towards Ocelot. No. _No_. Christ. What the hell did this idiot child think he was doing? He thought he could get out from under the shadow of owing Ocelot his life and his freedom by performing _sexual favors?_ Like Ocelot was supposed to be _interested in_ his skinny underaged neurotic ass?

But still Ocelot didn’t move as Bogomol kissed him, rather shyly. He’d thought before that they looked soft - they _were_ soft, although it was hard to tell with the scrape of nylon wire still embedded in his skin after God knew how many years. When Bogomol opened his mouth against Ocelot’s, Ocelot went so far as to copy the move.

This was… probably a holdover from Volgin. Ocelot already knew (perhaps better than Bogomol did) that his personality, habits, and opinions were a conglomeration of traits from people he’d established a psychic link to at some time or another. Eli’s influence was obvious, of course, and it made sense that it was strongest; however, during their reading/writing lessons Ocelot had not infrequently seen shades of Skull Face and it wasn’t uncommon for Bogomol to, when he was feeling particularly not like talking at the moment, use hand gestures directly out of Venom’s playbook. In all likelihood he still had in him somewhere a vestige of his very brief connection with that kid Shabani.

Of course, _Volgin_ was the type to _demand_ sexual favors as repayment of debts, not _offer_ them. But Bogomol seemed to think that was how the world worked and understood his place as far as Ocelot went. This kiss was a submissive one.

Ocelot waited until Bogomol broke it, taking an uneven breath as he did, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ocelot surreptitiously licked his lips. Did Bogomol seriously put on flavored chapstick for this…?

“You can do whatever you want with me,” Bogomol said quietly, “my body is yours to use as you please… for tonight.”

“You have no idea what you’re offering,” Ocelot breathed.

“I know about your torture fetish, Ocelot. …all I ask is that I still be able to walk in the morning.” He put his hands over Ocelot’s, leading them up his legs to his hips. “Anything else… I’ll do what you want and I won’t resist, I promise. I’ll even pretend to enjoy it if you like that.”

 _Idiot_.

There was only one thing Ocelot could do in this situation.

He stood up abruptly, pushing a rather startled Bogomol onto his back on the kitchen table - knocking over his vodka glass in the process, but neither of them paid any attention to that - positioned himself between his legs, and stared down at him. Bogomol almost cowered under his gaze, tensing and staring up at Ocelot with wide eyes and parted lips.

“You think this is what I want from you?” Ocelot said.

“Isn’t it…?”

Ocelot leaned closer. “Perhaps it’s just what _you_ want, Bogomolechik.”

Bogomol flushed a little at the reminder of his age. “No,” he whispered, “I don’t. I’m— not the type to get crushes on old people… or anyone, really… but especially not you.”

“If that’s how you want to think of yourself.”

“Really, I don’t—- a-ah—“ He cut himself off as Ocelot slid one hand down to his crotch, groping him through the fabric of his shorts. His legs jerked, pressing together against Ocelot’s hips.

“What do you _expect_ me to do with you, Bogomolechik? Were you _afraid_ to offer yourself to me…?”

Bogomol’s hands scrabbled against the table, then closed into fists as Ocelot kept fondling him. His shallow chest started rising and falling rapidly as Ocelot started to feel a certain stiffness against his palm.

“…or were you, perhaps, excited?”

“Ah… I… I just want… aah…”

Ocelot let him devolve into gasping out little sounds, shuddering against the friction. There question here, of course, was _How far is too far?_ Ocelot was already going further than he’d particularly expected to ever go with this project… it hadn’t occured to him that Bogomol would come onto him like that, even if it was because he felt so indebted and only wanted a way out.

Or maybe not ‘only’. He _was_ a teenage boy, after all.

“Oh… ah, Ocelot—“

The tent in Bogomol’s shorts grew ever larger and more noticeable, and Bogomol blushed all the way up to his ears, almost as red as his hair. He clapped a hand over his mouth when he let out a little yelp at Ocelot shifting his hand down to massage his balls before pressing hard against his perineum. Bogomol let out a choked noise, his hips bucking.

“Ah— agh- ghh— Ocelot… aahhh-“

Bogomol was rocking his hips against Ocelot’s hand, and Ocelot was marginally glad that he hadn’t lost his touch (ha) when it came to handjobs - even if he wasn’t exactly used to there being a cloth barrier. Still, it wasn’t like massaging someone’s crotch was difficult to do, especially when the person in question was getting increasingly enthusiastic, overwhelmed even, losing his self-control entirely.

“Ocelot- Ocelot— oh, this is… ohh, ah- Ocel-— ah!“

He tipped his head back and made a high-pitched moan.

“O-Ocelot- I’m gonna—!”

Ocelot stopped. Drew back. Stepped away.

It took a few moments of heated panting for Bogomol to lift his head and stare at Ocelot in frustrated confusion.

“You’re a child, Bogomolechik,” Ocelot said flatly. “I don’t hold debts from children.”

“Wh…?” Bogomol shrunk back against the table, biting his tongue. The fact that Ocelot was just abandoning him to his arousal finally sunk in with him, leaving him probably the most mortified and humiliated Ocelot had ever seen a single person.

Ocelot turned around, waving one hand. “Finish yourself off if you want. I’ll be seeing you around if you ever forgive me for this.”

He left the apartment, locking the door before he closed it. Bogomol sat on the kitchen table, bewildered and wishing desperately to simply vanish from existence at that moment… he looked down.

He had no idea what to do with his erection.

A few weeks afterwards. The Lubyanka.

“Bogomol,” Ocelot said without looking up from his paperwork. “It’s been a while. Of course, your avoiding me is understandable, but I knew you’d come around.”

Bogomol didn’t respond for a moment, then said, “Kuznetsov… did he quit, or get fired? No one seems to know for sure.”

“Does it matter? Either way he’s gone.”

“His body was pulled out of the Moskva River last night.”

“As I said, he’s gone.”

There was a long pause. Ocelot eventually looked up. Bogomol was still standing at the halfway point between Ocelot’s desk and his office door.

“Something else to say to me, Bogomol?”

“I…” Bogomol glanced off to the side deliberately. “I get it now, I think.”

“Do you?”

“You were… teaching me a lesson. About… about debt.”

“About offering your body as payment for debt,” Ocelot said boredly, going back to his paperwork. “Even aside from the fact that trying that on someone who has no interest in it will only make a fool out of you — should you encounter someone who _does_ claim to accept sexual favors as payment, someone like that will never release you from your debt. You’ll owe them forever. They’ll always have another excuse to get you on your knees under their desk until the day they die.”

“…you have experience with this,” Bogomol said, and it wasn’t a question or a guess. But Ocelot had already figured out he had certain holdovers from Volgin.

“Take my lesson to heart, Bogomol.”

“…I will…” he folded his arms, more hugging himself, really. “I’ve never been so… humiliated… I won’t ever do that again.”

“Good.”

“…thank you,” Bogomol mumbled, then quickly retreated from Ocelot’s office and closed the door.

Ocelot sighed, putting down his pen and rubbing his eyes. Hell of a way to teach something, but it’d be permanently burned into Bogomol’s mind now — no need to worry about him attempting this with anyone else. And his willingness to show his gas mask in Ocelot’s office again meant that no, he hadn’t gone too far. Hadn’t accidentally broken him with that dose of shame.

Hadn’t lost control over his _own_ self.

He stood, gathering his things and checking the clock. If he left now he could be back to Mother Base before midnight.


	35. Understandable, Understandable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Explicit - Underage  
> W/C 987

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of a comment hingabee left on the original _Miscellany_. Takes place during "Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли 5".

Ocelot turned around, waving one hand. “Finish yourself off if you want. I’ll be seeing you around if you ever forgive me for this.”

He left the apartment, locking the door before he closed it. Bogomol sat on the kitchen table, bewildered and wishing desperately to simply vanish from existence at that moment… he looked down.

He had no idea what to do with his erection.

_God._

Bogomol had never had an orgasm before in his life but he was (rather unintentionally) familiar with the _concept_ and was able to tell that he’d been seconds away from one when Ocelot suddenly stopped. He felt so incredibly wound up, felt like just leaving his arousal to die down like he was sure it would _eventually_ would be incredibly painful somehow… and he felt so unbearably embarrassed, so _ashamed_ …

He slid off the kitchen table, wincing, and awkwardly staggered over to his bedroom, where he locked the door - even though he was entirely alone in his apartment - and flopped onto his bed, gasping at the rub of fabric against his dick. Hands shaking, he quickly undid his pants and then just gave up on them entirely, slipping them and his underwear off and leaving them on the floor. (He hardly noticed he was still wearing his shirt and his stockings. It didn’t matter.)

Looking at his naked cock just made him feel worse - hard and flushed red, visibly throbbing, dripping clear, slick fluid… Ocelot did this to him, he’d _let_ Ocelot do this to him, he’d _initiated_ it, and then Ocelot had just _stopped_ , and _left_ him like this…

Hesitantly Bogomol touched a fingertip to the head - it felt hot, and sent a little jolt up through his body - then stroked his fingers down the side like he’d seen Eli do a couple years ago when he hadn’t known he was watching. It felt good, but… not as good as when Ocelot was doing it.

He laid on his back, staring up at the lead-covered ceiling. He couldn’t believe he’d done that — that he’d thought that would _work_. He still owed Ocelot every bit, didn’t he? And got saddled with this erection to take care of, too. Bogomol laid his unoccupied arm over his face, like that could do anything to abate his humiliation. With his other hand he unsteadily rubbed his dick, quick jerks, chafing a little—

Bogomol needed… comfort. He felt so unbalanced, so bewildered and lost and disgraced and here he was degrading himself still, maybe not as badly as when he’d sat in Ocelot’s lap and kissed him but he _needed_ this - needed _something_. Moreover, he couldn’t seem to get himself over the edge like this, just touching himself while trying to ignore the fact that he _was_ touching himself.

He couldn’t ignore that and he couldn’t ignore anything that had just happened. What was _wrong_ with him?

Giving up on his hand and wiping it off on his blanket, he rolled over, biting his tongue at the marginally satisfying amount of friction he got from grinding against the mattress. What a disturbing situation he’d gotten himself into - ever since coming back to the Soviet Union, his only anchors in a sea of uncertainty were Ocelot and Eli. But Ocelot was only there for his own selfish reasons and Eli… Eli was…

He pressed his face against the sheets. Eli was _gone_. Eli was stuck in some unknown place in the Middle East being starved and beaten and tortured and Bogomol was worried _sick_ , so sick that he could barely bring himself to acknowledge how badly he was really was suffering without him. He missed him and agonized over his fate and more than anything he was just desperate for any kind of comfort and reassurance and…

Bogomol made a desperate grab for the drawer of his bedside table.

Back when the SAS man had first told Bogomol that Eli wasn’t coming back anytime soon, he’d handed Bogomol the photo that the Iraqi insurgents had sent to prove they had him hostage, and then when Bogomol had been unwilling to give it back, simply let him keep it. It was the only photo Bogomol owned of him — all the other ones he’d managed to lose somewhere in the process of returning to the USSR. By now enough weeks had passed that it was starting to wear from Bogomol taking it out every night just to force himself to look at it.

It _was_ hard to look at. Bogomol could barely keep his eyes focused on it. Everything about it was gut-wrenching; Eli’s downturned eyes, his frown, the bags under his eyes and his sunken cheeks, the smear of blood at the edge of his lip, the bruises on his neck, his shoulders, his jaw, his too-sharp clavicles, the shadow of dirt on his skin, the way his arms were behind his back like he’d been bound-—

The next thing Bogomol knew his bedsheets were damp with sweat and sticky with semen, he was panting tiredly, and Eli’s photo was half-crushed in his hand.

Oh, god.

He could never tell Eli about this.

None of it. Not what Ocelot had done, not what _he’d_ done - not even the circumstances behind any of it, his and Ocelot’s unusual relationship and Bogomol’s desperation for some happy memory. Eli could never know. If… _when_ he ever saw Eli again he wouldn’t say a word about _any_ of this.

Wouldn’t be able to bear doing so.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Bogomol sat up, kneeling on his bed, and returned the photo to his bedside drawer. He needed to shower, change his bedspread, clean up the spilled vodka in the kitchen… then he could sleep and maybe, just maybe, when he woke up and went to the Lubyanka tomorrow all of this would seem so far away.

_What a day._


	36. Skirt Meta (Collab)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee):** mantis just gives liquid payback for all the times he made fun of him wearing a skirt (and for the time he dressed as carrie for halloween), also mantis simply thinks liquid looks nice in lingerie and such (hes just a weirdo like that), and we know liquids into humilation which makes the mantis revenge extra fun :P ... sadly it escalates when liquid insists on mantis ALSO wearing pretty lacy lingerie  
>  **Me:** One of us needs to draw this........  
>  [...]  
>  **hingabee:** (mantis realises he likes the pretty underwear though. not necessarily in a sexy way but. like he does w his bdsm bondage shit. so he ends up wearing some of it alot much to liquids distress)  
>  **Me:** It feels comfortable, what other reason would he need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first picture was drawn by hingabee (obviously), then I did a followup

 

 

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, these pics are what [this chapter of hingabee's fic _menagerie_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759107/chapters/31668144) is based off of.


	37. Lesbiguns (Collab)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sketch of mine lined/colored by [my friend](https://www.furaffinity.net/user/arixmushi/) ([also on tumblr](http://nightcheesus.tumblr.com))! Title was her idea.


	38. I Love You, Mr. President

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "[M]aybe this evening they would be dining together or something, but wouldn’t that be no different from what Ocelot was doing at this very moment, visiting useful acquaintances just to make sure his snares around them hadn’t been untangled in his absence?
> 
> Or, maybe Ocelot really did like Solidus."
> 
> Explicit - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 2,448

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two separate requests I got (from Mutru and an anonymous commenter) on chapter nine of the original _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_. They both wanted to see Solidus and Ocelot's night out. Or night in, rather. Kind of hard to go on a real date when the Secret Service would have to follow you around.
> 
> Shoutout to Corpsefluid for giving me a few clues on how to actually write Ocelsolidus. Particularly the "Ocelot is ageless" thing.

October 2004, Washington, D.C.

“Oh, and Ocelot,” Solidus had said as they were walking out, “as long as you’re in town tonight…”

“Of course, sir,” Ocelot had responded, smiling blandly.

…

It was late when Ocelot arrived back at the White House after spending the day schmoozing with his useful idiots. Already dark, in fact, but… not too late for dinner.

President Sears was, allegedly, a childless widower; Solidus ate by himself in the West Wing study/dining room, unless he was obliged to invite staff or visiting dignitaries. When Ocelot was in town - rare - and available - sadly, rarer - he joined him. The meal always started with the barest pleasantries and progressed to silence after that, but towards the end they typically started to lose interest in whatever the White House chefs had cooked up that night and began to talk for real.

Mostly just in-person reports from Ocelot, honestly. The kind of thing he normally told him over the phone — there wasn’t much he considered _so_ secure that he had to make a trip out to Washington, D.C. just to tell Solidus. (He usually left Solidus in the dark about that kind of thing.) For Solidus’ part this was his chance to hold Ocelot a captive audience for one of his unceasing ideological monologues that could carry on for so long they made _Liquid_ look like Psycho Mantis circa 1984. It used to be that Ocelot would never so much as he hint that he only half-listening and filtering out unimportant important information before he could even consciously acknowledge it… but he’d figured out long ago that Solidus was the willfully oblivious sort who not only didn’t notice Ocelot ignoring him but also wouldn’t have noticed if Ocelot had shown open contempt for his ideas.

Which wasn’t to say he did. Solidus had a good head on his shoulders, more or less. There was a _reason_ why Ocelot endeared himself to him so throughly. But the man was _too_ idealistic, not practical enough - almost naïve in some respects - and stubborn (and patient - for comparison, Liquid was too stubborn for his own good as well, but at least with him Ocelot could wear him down with his own restlessness) and it wasn’t uncommon for Solidus to be so… so _petulant_ that Ocelot couldn’t have forgotten that he was, technically, only in his twenties if he _wanted_ to. (That, and the fact that he’d never, ever had anything that even vaguely resembled an ordinary childhood. Ocelot had very intimate experience with the fact that someone who never got the chance to _be_ a child would inevitably find themselves _acting_ like one in adulthood.)

“Do you ever think about what happens after you die, Ocelot?”

“Hm?” The question was posed randomly enough for Ocelot to actually notice and process it. “Not in particular, sir. I suppose I believe that the ‘soul’ continues on after death, but only in the abstract.”

Solidus shook his head. “I’m not surprised you haven’t thought about it much.”

“What do you mean?”

“…nothing. Only that it seems to me that there’d be little reason to ponder what comes after death, for you.” He stared down at his mostly-eaten food instead of at Ocelot. “Since there’d be little reason to ponder death at all.”

“I do lead a rather dangerous life, sir. That’s been true for about as long as I’ve been alive.” Give or take. Being literally born on a battlefield probably meant that he could drop the ‘about’, but very _very_ few people actually knew about that, and Solidus wasn’t one of them.

Solidus shook his head. “That isn’t what I was referring to,” he said. “It’s only that… from my perspective, Ocelot, _you don’t age_.”

Ocelot opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it and closed it again. Let Solidus continue on his own if he wanted to.

He did. “We first met in 1989… fifteen years ago now. I was thirteen.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“But for all intents and purposes, I was in my late twenties. My official birth records say I was born in 1962, so that was roughly accurate.” He pushed a bit of his dinner around with his fork, a moody gesture that reminded Ocelot strongly of Big Boss in his fouler tempers. “Since then… I’ve aged rapidly. I ought to be only in my forties, yet I look like - and my body _feels_ like - I’m in my late fifties or early sixties. Infancy, childhood, adolescence - even my middle age passed me by in the blink of an eye.”

“You could hardly take the presidency if the public knew your true age, sir.”

“I know that. Still… I don’t know if you know, since you weren’t around, but saying that I age at twice the rate of a normal human is only half-true. I age at roughly that rate _now_ — when I was much younger, I aged much faster, especially physically. My first memories take place, from what I found out later, less than a year after I was born. And I recall looking at myself in the mirror and seeing the face and body of a roughly six-year-old child. About two years later I went through puberty in a matter of months. Once my body hit physical adulthood, aging slowed again… it was _almost_ normal for quite a while. Almost. By the time the Liberian Civil War had ended I already had crows-feet and gray hairs… and just look at me now. _Stress_ is the excuse they give, but the truth is obvious.”

Ocelot _had_ known, but he tilted his head noncommittally anyway, giving Solidus a sympathetic look that he only briefly glanced up at before glowering at his plate again.

“ _You_ , on the other hand,” he said after a moment’s pause, “look exactly the same as you did when I met you again six years ago. And even then, you aren’t very different from you looked in 1989… you dress differently, your voice is rougher, and your hair is longer… that’s about it.”

“I’m sure I’ve gained a few wrinkles myself since 1989,” Ocelot said evenly.

Solidus shook his head. “You don’t age,” he said again, “it’s like you found the fountain of youth several decades too late.”

Ocelot snorted. “I age at the same rate as everyone else on the planet, sir. Except, of course, for you.” And people with progeria or other developmental and/or pituitary disorders. But bringing that up now might burst Solidus’ bubble and that would be a bit of a dick move. Or an unnecessary dick move, at any rate.

“That’s the _problem_ ,” Solidus said. “I’ve been denied what you have - what everyone has. My mind’s never been quite in keeping with my appearance, and my body’s been deteriorating steadily since the nineties. My life span is capped; I’m not supposed to know this, but I should reach my limit sometime during my second term. My administration will end due to my death, because my health’s been scheduled to fail me.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“…”

Ocelot frowned. It wasn’t new information to him, but he’d never told Solidus about it — didn’t want to, quite frankly. No need to stress him out over a situation he had no control over; better to let him figure out his lifespan was capped when and _only_ when the cap was in sight. (Although, it sort of was by now — the election was mere weeks away, so Solidus’ second term was set to start just next year.) Someone must have let that slip during one of his secret-to-the-public Presidential meetings with the Patriots…

“…you don’t have to worry about that,” Solidus said.

“No one lives forever, sir.”

“No… but you made it to forty, and past it. I won’t even see 35.”

“…”

Ocelot had turned sixty this year. Solidus, less than half his age, looked as old as he already and would unavoidably die in the next few years.

So, of _course_ Ocelot would seem, to Solidus, like a fucking immortal.

“If it makes you feel any better, sir,” Ocelot said with a sigh, “I was against accelerated aging from the start.”

“Oh. Were you?”

“It seemed like a waste.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. Just a recontextualization; Ocelot _had_ been against accelerating aging, for the twins _and_ for Solidus. But as far as the twins went by the time he’d even _heard_ about it it was already too late and Dr. Clark had already gone through with it - and Ocelot decided then that, should he ever be involved in any way with either of them, he wouldn’t mention it until definitive symptoms started to appear — four years later when Solidus was being created, Ocelot’s tangential “participation” in Les Enfants Terribles had dwindled and he hadn’t raised any objections to screwing with Solidus’ telomeres, even though he knew _that_ wouldn’t just hit the boy like a truck in his late thirties/early forties like it would with his brothers. It wasn’t even that Ocelot was so uninvolved that Dr. Clark wouldn’t listen to him; he simply hadn’t cared enough to do anything besides privately mutter about it.

Solidus didn’t need to know that.

“Yes,” Solidus said at length, his voice almost uncharacteristically soft, “what a waste.”

…

Ocelot represented, to Solidus, a lot of things that he couldn’t have. As he’d just explained over dinner, part it was the fact that Ocelot seemed to him like an ageless eternal being whose death he would never live to see — but for the most part, Ocelot represented freedom. Both in the abstract - Ocelot was, himself, a free man, free to act and do as he pleased and saw fit, at least as far as Solidus knew — and in the literal - with Ocelot by his side, Solidus could eventually rid himself of the Patriots who controlled his life.

And Ocelot was also, to him, something he _could_ have when his father _didn’t_.

“How long did you fantasize about this?”

“Sir, I’ve already told you a hundred times.”

“How long, Ocelot?”

“…since I was twenty, sir.”

It was surreal to think about Ocelot as a young man. If photos existed, Solidus had never seen them - never asked — he didn’t want to know. When he wondered what it must have been like in 1964 when Ocelot and Big Boss had first met, Solidus always imagined Ocelot the way he’d been in 1989.

Ocelot had, as far as Solidus knew (or was concerned), never told Big Boss about the way he felt. So it followed that he’d never slept with him - he’d admitted as much before. Never even kissed him.

So it was _Solidus_ who got to feel Ocelot’s moustache brush against this own the half-moment before their lips met and he pushed Ocelot back against the bed, tongue invasive. His mouth tasted like wine.

“Sir,” Ocelot breathed when Solidus finally drew back again, breaking the kiss.

“Am I a good enough replacement, Ocelot?”

“As good as the original, sir.”

Solidus’ hands moved to Ocelot’s neck. Ocelot didn’t even put up token resistance.

“ _Better_ , sir,” he gasped.

“Of course,” Solidus said, then kissed him again. “I actually bother with you, unlike my father.”

“Of course.”

Solidus would have been at least mildly interested in knowing which of them had the bigger issues here.

Ocelot was in really good shape for how old he was, and despite everything the Patriots had taken from Solidus, his strength and stamina had yet to be one of them. So it was mostly only sweaty old man sex if you bothered to look at their white or gray hair and lined faces.

Solidus had flipped him onto his stomach and bent him over the side of the bed — Ocelot had repeatedly said that he didn’t like Solidus looking at his face while fucking him. (Sometimes Solidus wondered if that was just a shallow way to hide indifference. Ocelot could be so cold and distant… sometimes Solidus wondered if he wasn’t more attached to his brothers, simply because they came first.) (But no, Solidus was so much more like Big Boss than Liquid or Solid could ever hope to be. He was the perfect clone. Wasn’t he?)

In spite of that - or rather because of that - Solidus liked to grab Ocelot by the jaw, wrenching his head to the side so that he could kiss him while he drove into his ass, Ocelot’s hands kneading at the luxury cotton sheets, tearing them with his nails.

“I told you,” Ocelot hissed through clenched teeth, “to be gentle— I have that flight back to headquarters tomorrow morning, you really think I want to- sit down like this-? _Ah!_ ”

“I’m sure you can handle it.”

“I certainly won’t like it, sir.”

Another rough thrust. “Something to remember me by.”

Ocelot muttered something about how many hours it took to fly from D.C. to North Dakota. Solidus quickly shut him up with another kiss.

“When will you be back in Washington again?” he murmured over his ear.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You’ve complicated things lately, you know that, don’t you?”

Ocelot just made a breathy little sound, pushing back against Solidus.

Solidus huffed. Ocelot probably didn’t _care_ that he complicated things. Solidus would have to be delusional to think that Ocelot actually cared about _his_ plans once they stopped aligning perfectly with his _own_ agenda. He knew full well that Solidus intended to get rid of FOXHOUND, and then went and did this anyway…

Better not to complicate things further. Solidus could be a flexible man when he needed to be.

But it was still annoying.

Afterwards Ocelot had to shower and return to Ft. McNair. He did kiss Solidus goodbye, but then he was gone. Solidus could count the numbers of times Ocelot had stayed ’til morning on one hand, and if he was just counting times since he’d been sworn in then all Solidus would have to show would be a closed fist. (They could both give excuses about aides that might get suspicious, but they both knew that his and Ocelot’s relationship was an open secret among White House staff and a good chunk of the media. Solidus wasn’t even sure that there was much Patriot intervention to conceal their hand-picked specially-raised President’s propensity for members of the same sex, or a particular member of the same sex anyway — staffers, at least, might have just been trying to be respectful on their own.)

The President’s Bedroom smelled like sex and Solidus wished that once, just once, Ocelot would stay.


	39. Father & Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's not time to make a change_ / _Just sit down, take it slowly_ / _You're still young, that's your fault_ / _There's so much you have to go through_
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 3,026

1994, Afghanistan.

Liquid really had no choice but to follow the rules of Outer Heaven to his utmost ability. Trouble with him was extra troublesome — no one (or at least no one who’d been there longer than a week and a half) doubted that his combat ability was good enough that he deserved to be in an A- through S-rank unit on his own merits, but, well… the Boss _did_ consider Liquid his son, even if he was still kinda getting used to that. And he _was_ sleeping with the Boss’ second-in-command. In other words, he was extremely close to the two highest-ranking people in Outer Heaven, so the automatic assumption everyone made was that he could get away with anything.

That was the _opposite_ of true. Venom and Ocelot (mostly Venom) were very particular about treating their soldiers fairly. So if Liquid fucked up, got in a fight, showed up late, whatever - he would be disciplined just like anyone else. Almost like anyone else. He inevitably got very visible, borderline ‘public shaming’ punishment assignments like working in the kitchens, cleaning vehicles, or shoveling shit on the animal conservation platform, presumably to prove to everyone else that he was, in fact, not getting away with anything. Just once Liquid wished they’d stick him in the brig for an hour or two to cool off and call that good.

And even then, once that was over he still had to deal with Ocelot giving him an obnoxious lecture _and_ Venom being disappointed with him… which was what hurt the most. Sure, it didn’t take long for Liquid to get back into his good graces and for Venom to forget about whatever incident entirely, but in the interim not only did Liquid feel terrible but even DD seemed to shake his head at him as he trotted by.

(At least if Liquid was in trouble because he got into a fight, Quiet would give him thumbs-ups behind Venom’s back.)

Today had been about two days after one of those fights and Liquid _swore_ that it wasn’t his fault, sure he was aggressive and had a hair-trigger temper but that was true of like 80% of people on Mother Base, Liquid didn’t _start_ fights - the other guy started it, Liquid was just defending himself and it wasn’t _his_ fault he was capable of kicking the other guy’s ass and proceeded to do exactly that. They had to wire his jaw shut. But it was his own damn fault, Liquid hadn’t been looking for trouble and he’d even given the guy due warning about breaking his face a good thirty seconds before the first blow was thrown.

Today Liquid was out on a sortie with Venom. It was pretty rare that Venom actually took anyone as his battle buddy that wasn’t Quiet (as far as humans went). Liquid, still feeling sore about the recent discipline, was eager to make it up and prove that he wasn’t a disappointment — even if, unlike Big Boss, Venom could draw a clear line between “I’m disappointed in your behavior, you can do better” and “You _are_ a disappointment, you’re not good enough.” So there they were: driving between regional militia outposts in the Afghan desert in one of Outer Heaven’s Jeeps, Liquid behind the wheel, Venom in the passenger seat, a tranquilized goat in the back. They hadn’t had any trouble so far, really; the countryside was really quite peaceful since the Najibullah regime collapsed (or so Liquid heard), with all the fighting presently taking place in major cities.

“So,” Venom said, eventually breaking the awkward silence. “That fight you had with Static Hippo the other day…”

Liquid’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. Did Venom seriously invite him on the sortie just to lecture him away from prying eyes? He should have known it was something like that. “Look, I’m _sorry_ , alright?” he said, “I really wasn’t _intending_ to-“

“No, I know he started it.”

“But I shouldn’t have escalated it. I know. I got angry. I’ll- I’ll work on that, I promise. I know you’re disappointed with me, but—“

“I’m not disappointed,” Venom said, “I’m _worried_.”

“…?”

Venom sighed. “This has been happening a lot. You’re getting picked on, aren’t you?”

“I… I can handle myself, Father.”

“Your idea of ‘handling yourself’ is sending men to the medical platform every other week.”

“…”

“Eli, if there’s a problem, you really should come get me. Or Ocelot, or Quiet. Someone.”

“That’ll just make things worse,” Liquid muttered, frenetically picking at a peeling bit of the steering wheel cover. “Evidently my reputation amounts to either ‘daddy’s favorite’ or ‘Commander Ocelot’s boytoy’ or both, depending on who you ask. A lot of people think I don’t belong here, or don’t belong in my combat unit - that I just shagged my way in, or else it’s nepotism. Either that or they expect me to be some kind of spoilt bully who kissed up to the top dogs in order to get away with more power than I ought to have… they’re just _waiting_ for me to run and come hide behind you or Ocelot. It’d prove them right.”

“…oh. I see.”

“It is a problem,” Liquid admitted. “But if you did _anything_ to actually _address_ it, Father, then… well…”

“If anyone else were getting picked on, Eli, I’d try to intervene in that case, too. It’s not just you. This isn’t even the first time this has happened.”

Liquid wasn’t surprised. People could get testy cooped up in the middle of the ocean for weeks at a time - it really was just happenstance that _he_ was the target du jour for now and the foreseeable future. “I just need to figure out how to improve my reputation, that’s all. Surely sooner or later everyone’s going to realize I… I _do_ deserve to be here. …don’t I?”

Venom gave an affirmative grunt. Liquid half-smiled faintly for half a moment, but he knew Venom wasn’t done.

“Do you think getting into fights will improve your reputation?”

“I don’t _try_ to get into fights. I don’t start them.”

“No, you just finish them. Eli, you _know_ how to deflect someone without escalating. You’re capable of defending yourself without actually injuring the other party.”

“…”

“We can practice it, if you want,” Venom offered.

“…it’s alright. I’ll do better in the future, Father.”

It fell back to silence for a short while.

The radio beeped. Liquid hid a sigh — Mantis, being on the intel team and close with Liquid, was usually the one who ran support when Liquid was out on solo or semi-solo missions, and right now was no exception. “Father, are you getting a call right now…?”

Venom shook his head.

Great. Just for him specifically. Liquid had three guesses what the call was about and the first two didn’t count.

He picked it up anyway. “Just a thought, Eli,” Mantis said conspiratorially, “but if you are concerned about your reputation, you could instantly fix half of it just by breaking up with O-“

Liquid hung up with a huff.

“…you know he’s worried about you, too,” Venom said at length.

“I don’t need him being worried about me. Especially since he chooses to express that by _nagging_ me and constantly disrespecting my privacy, I wish he’d stop. But he doesn’t listen to me anymore…”

There was another long pause. Liquid vaguely wondered where exactly the next outpost was, not that they were really expecting to see anyone at it, since militia forces would be concentrated in Kandahar, which was quite a ways from here.

“Did I ever tell you about ranking missions?” Venom said.

“What?” Liquid said, snapping out of his slight desert-induced lull.

“It’s a way of judging how well you did on a mission you just went on, I do it all the time. Although I think it was Kaz who originally came up with it…”

“I don’t follow.”

Venom pulled out his phantom cigar and thoughtfully took a puff. “You give yourself a ranking after you’ve left the hot zone,” he said, “the ranks are S, A, B, C, D, and E.”

“I take it ’S’ is the best and ‘E’ is the worst.”

“Exactly. An S-rank mission means that you completed your primary objective, most or all of your secondary objectives, your stealth was perfect, you did it quickly, and you didn’t kill anyone. E-rank means that you got out of there with your life, and that’s about it.”

“Sounds logical. But how do you differentiate between, say, a B-rank and a C-rank mission?”

“A points system,” Venom said. “Take away points if you cause a caution or an alert, or kill someone, or get injured, or if your buddy gets injured or your vehicle gets destroyed. Gain them back by rescuing children, prisoners, or animals, or scavenging useful items from hostile installations. That kind of thing.”

“…so is there a certain number that goes along with these, and do you start out with a certain amount of points…?”

“Oh, it’s arbitrary.”

“I suppose the whole idea is that _you_ know how well _you_ did…”

Venom nodded. “I’ve had D- and E-rank missions before,” he said. “Everyone has. Everyone makes mistakes, and considering how easily they can cost you your life in the field… when it happens, as long as you make it back alive then everyone’s proud of you.”

“…”

“When I rescued you from Iraq,” Venom said, “that was an S-rank mission.”

“Oh, it was…? I don’t really remember it very well.”

“Hm… you were out of it. But the insurgents had holes in their security, I’m positive that if you were in better shape you would have been able to escape yourself. Still, I was in and out in less than fifteen minutes, and no one noticed me at all.”

“I see.”

“But just between you and me,” Venom said, “as long as I got you back to Mother Base alive, I would have considered that an S-rank.”

Okay. Liquid couldn’t help but be kind of happy, hearing Venom say that. “Just out of curiosity,” he said, “when you picked me up from Masa Village ten years ago… were you doing this ranking stuff back then?”

Venom nodded. “That was an A-rank,” he said, “it generally went well, but since I had to confront you instead of just sneaking up on you and tranquillizing you, it wasn’t exactly ‘perfect stealth’.”

“Well… tranquillizing me wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

“I remember.”

Better than Liquid did, apparently— come to think of it, Venom _had_ tried to shoot him with his tranquilizer pistol during the fight, and it hadn’t exactly done, well, anything.

“The Kingdom of the Flies thing, though…” Venom said, “when that was over, I gave myself an E-rank, even though we’d technically fulfilled our objective, and with minimal casualties on all sides. Overall, if I remember correctly, that was a B-rank mission… the ‘E’ was just for myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I was so disappointed in myself for failing to save you.”

Liquid opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, unable to think of something to say.

Venom finally glanced at him instead of just staring blankly at the desert in front of him. “I’ve been meaning to ask…” he said, “how _did_ you escape? When you didn’t shoot me, I thought for sure you’d shot yourself - even if you didn’t do that, then the napalm would have taken you out — and even without _that_ , you were already starting to show symptoms of the vocal cord parasite.”

“Erm…”

“But you’re completely fine… when I brought you back to Outer Heaven, I specifically had the medical staff check you for the parasite. But you’re clean - it wasn’t just neutralized. It’s completely gone. How did that happen?”

“Mantis,” Liquid said.

“?”

“He removed it. Don’t ask me how. It felt weird, that’s all I could really process at the time. But he stopped me from shooting myself, got rid of the parasite, and took me off the island before the napalm dropped — you can’t imagine what it’s like to fly without aircraft, Father. Even parachuting doesn’t come close. Just doing that… really, it’s why I joined the SAS when I was about to turn eighteen. I wanted to fly again.”

“He had no will of his own back then… he clearly does now, did that start to develop by that point?”

“I don’t know,” Liquid said with a shrug. “I don’t think he knows, either, or at least he never told me. It could have been that I simply didn’t want to die deep down, and he was acting on that… or saving me like that could have been one of his first acts under his own power… I don’t know. Certainly I know that _after_ that incident I’ve never again been able to consider suicide a serious option, no matter what I try. It’s like I’ve got a mental block.”

“…you’ve tried to kill yourself?”

“Er.”

“Were you considering suicide _before_ the Kingdom of the Flies?”

“…er… let’s change the subject.”

“Eli…”

“Look, it doesn’t matter, alright?! It was a long time ago. And _anyone_ would try to put themselves out of their own misery after being trapped in a prison camp for over a year with no hope of escape! But I just… I just couldn’t. Then it all worked out in the end anyway, so who cares? Let’s talk about something else.”

“…”

They ended up not talking at all. Eventually they came across the over outpost, which Venom checked with his binoculars before mumbling that it was only staffed with one soldier - who ran out in front as the Jeep approached, pointing a carbine at them and, when Liquid didn’t slow down, opened fire. Liquid and Venom just ducked.

 _Whump_.

“…Eli,” Venom said, “you just ran him over.”

“Yes?”

“…you get a higher ranking for doing things non-lethally, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

The radio beeped again; it must have been a call for both of them this time, because Venom picked it up immediately, for both of them. “He might still be alive,” Mantis said, “you could just back up and check.”

“Good point,” Liquid said. He threw the Jeep into reverse.

The car bounced as he accidentally backed over the guy.

“…well, he’s certainly dead now,” Liquid said as Venom frowned and Mantis’ barely-restrained cackling sounded in their earpieces. “No need to worry about that.”

“You’re supposed to look behind when you’re backing up… who taught you how to drive?”

“…I… sort of taught myself…”

“…”

“…”

“….”

Liquid sheepishly put the Jeep back in drive and kept going.

Later. Back on Mother Base. Relatively secluded area on the combat platform.

“How did the sortie with Saladin go, anyway?” Wolf said.

“Just fine,” Liquid said, “didn’t run into any trouble. I still don’t really get the goat thing.”

“Me neither. Endangered or otherwise at-risk animals I understand, but goats and sheep that wandered away from their flocks… that is somewhat strange.”

“I suppose his thought process is that they’d just be picked off by some predator without their shepherds… I don’t know. Anyway, other than that it was just, well…” he trailed off, and shrugged.

“Still getting used to him being your father?”

“It did happen sort of suddenly… say, Quiet and my father… they’re sort of an item, aren’t they?”

Wolf nodded. “They aren’t married, though. …she did actually tell me once that she would like it if Saladin proposed, but he does not seem to realize that that is an option.”

Liquid didn’t question Quiet ‘telling’ Wolf something - it hadn’t been long after he got here that he found out that sometime after he left, Quiet had taken to communicating via sign language, and most people on Base could understand her by now. Made it convenient for people who sustained injuries that temporarily or permanently affected their hearing, and also that one deaf guy in the base development unit whose hearing aids were constantly on the fritz.

He kicked back, letting his legs swing over the edge of the platform. “Well, if she’s with my father like that… I hope she doesn’t get it into her head that she’s supposed to be some kind of mother figure to me now.”

“What would be wrong with that?”

“Wolf, I was twelve years old and just starting puberty when I met her. I was just like all the other boys on Base - I had my sexual awakening over her, do you honestly think that _wouldn’t_ be awkward?”

She sighed. “No, I know what you mean,” she said, “I am in the same boat.”

There was a brief pause. Then they both blinked, frowned, and fully processed what the other had said.

“Hang on, what?” Liquid said, “ _you_ had a crush on Quiet?”

“Wait, I thought you were gay…”

Mantis walked up behind them; Liquid glanced at him over his shoulder. “Oh, hello. You look grouchy. …er than usual.”

“Wasn’t your shift supposed to have ended an hour ago?” Wolf said.

Mantis sat down next to Liquid with a huff. “Ocelot kept making me rewrite the report on Eli’s outing with Venom,” he growled. “How annoying… they hardly _did_ anything besides ‘father-son bonding’, but apparently that is not an acceptable summary of a mission.”

“We did get some goats,” Liquid said. Mantis just rolled his eyes.

“And the Jeep came back with blood on both bumpers and the undercarriage,” Wolf said. “Was that a goat?”

“No,” Mantis said.

“Mantis tricked me into backing over a militiaman,” Liquid said.

“I did not. He had already run him over. He was probably already dead.”

“You told me to back up and check to see if he wasn’t still alive!”

“I never said that you didn’t have to look where you were _going_.”

“And _then_ you started giggling.”

“I did not!”

Wolf watched them bicker with an expression of knowing amusement, then turned back to looking out over the ocean. The animal conservation platform was just visible in the distance.

…yeah, the goat thing _was_ kind of weird.


	40. Character portraits 2

  
(Liquid per  _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ , pre-empting chapter 56 or so, don't @ me)

  


  



	41. We Hang Our Bonnets Out of Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis receives a very important phone call.  
> Coincident with chapters two and three of _Wherever I Go, I'll Make It Home_.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 3,780

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this was another popular one...

September 1994, Morocco.  
12:00 in the morning local time.

Mantis’ alarm clock went off.

He didn’t even crack open his eyes before psychokinetically flinging it off the bedside table to smash against the opposite lead-foil-covered wall. He had no regard for hotel property. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to cover damages.

Blearily Mantis sat up, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t often sleep - in fact, tried to avoid it - but exhaustion built up over weeks and _eventually_ he had to get a few hours’ rest. Tonight hadn’t been so bad, actually. Normally when he slept he dreamed, terrible dreams, where terrible things happened to Eli. He told himself that his dreams weren’t part of his psychic bond, his subconscious was only conjuring revolting details about Eli’s imprisonment just because he was worried.

Or, at least, he used to. When accidentally parasitizing a serial killer a little over a year ago, he’d gotten a nice healthy dose of pessimism shoved down his throat to take root in his chest. He no longer believed his psychic bond with Eli could do much over such a distance - no longer was sure it was even _intact_ after all this time. Dreams were dreams, nothing more. He told himself not to care.

He told himself Eli had died alone some years back. He was wrong when he thought he’d feel it if that happened. He didn’t feel _anything_.

With that depressing thought to start the day, Mantis got up, throwing the bedcovers aside and plodding to the bathroom. Since he rarely slept and had the world’s most ridiculous metabolism, he hardly had need of a hotel, but getting a nice suite was a good excuse to burn money he didn’t otherwise know what to do with, and wallpapering the room (floor and ceiling included) with lead foil gave him a place to take off his mask, so he could eat, shower, and take phone calls in peace. (Talking on the phone was difficult with a gas mask. When not in the makeshift shielding of his hotel room, he had a pager to communicate via e-mail.)

He brushed his teeth with his back to the mirror; he couldn’t stand looking at his own face and he knew if he looked in the mirror for longer than ten seconds then he’d only end up shattering it (didn’t matter) and feeling even worse than he already did (best to avoid). Midnight… the sun wouldn’t even rise for six hours. He had nothing lined up today anyway - his last job he’d completed and confirmed payment the previous afternoon. Mantis never bothered actively seeking out clients, didn’t need to, so now it was just a matter of waiting for someone else to call him wanting a psychic spy. And Mantis had enough money in various bank accounts in several different countries for him to travel and stay in four- and five-star hotels for _years_ without getting a single cent of income before he had to cut back… (It also helped that he didn’t pay taxes.)

Hm.

His cell phone was ringing.

Must have been a caller from a different time zone, that was typical. The phone flew to his hand as he spit toothpaste into the sink. Private number… that too was typical. Sighing, not particularly in the mood for pleasantries but seeing no point in driving a customer off, he picked up the call.

“Returning client, or is this a referral?”

“You’ve really picked up some unsavory jobs since you left the FBI, haven’t you, Bogomol?”

Mantis dropped his toothbrush, his eyes going wide. _What_. Ocelot? After all this time?!

“Wh- how-??”

“You gave me your contact information when you left the KGB - or did you really forget?”

He had, actually, but, “I have changed my number since then.”

“And you honestly think it would have been difficult to track down your new one? Tell me, Bogomol, how many psychic spies do you think there _are?_ ”

“…” Not very many. Mantis practically had a monopoly. Part of the reason why he made so damn much. “Don’t call me ‘Bogomol’. That life is far behind me.”

“Is it? I’ve certainly heard quite a few interesting stories about what happened after you returned to America. Tell me, _Mantis_ , how did that schoolbus full of children sound when it hit the Potomac?”

“…!!”

“You thought I’d just _let_ you go traipsing off to the FBI if I didn’t have the capability of finding out what happened to you or what you _did_ before the cover-ups happened… shame your new personality didn’t make you any less naïve.”

“Shut up. I have no desire to speak to you.”

“Not yet you don’t.”

“What do you mean ‘not yet’? Why are you calling me?!”

There was a slight shifting of fabric - presumably Ocelot moving his phone from one shoulder to the other. “Big news from the Middle East,” he said, “V’s recently done a prisoner extraction mission in southern Iraq. Resounding success, I might add.”

“And what does this have to do with- oh. Wait— do you have- _information_ now??” Mantis suddenly felt more excited now than he’d felt in _years_. He could have jumped out of his own skin if he were capable. “The prisoner, did they know where Eli is?!”

“Even better,” Ocelot said, “the prisoner _was_ Eli.”

“He has— he has been recovered!”

A slightly condescending chuckle. “Yes,” he said, “as of 12 hours ago, he’s free from the Iraqi insurgents and healing up on Mother Base. He was half-starved and severely dehydrated when he got here, and he did need quite a few stitches, but his body’s intact and he’s reportedly coherent.”

“He’s… alive… Eli’s alive…!”

Mantis’ legs gave out and he fell to his knees, wiping his eyes with the arm not holding his phone. Oh god. He’d given up on him, how could he? He should have known that Eli’s will to live was so much stronger, so much _brighter_ than anyone who might seek to extinguish him.

“Are you crying?” Ocelot said over the phone. “Pull yourself together. There’s more to it.”

“W-What? No, of course I am not crying.” He just had something in his eyes, that was all. Maybe all the lead exposure was irritating them. “What else is there? I can’t believe he is alive, how did you find him?"

“One question at a time, Mantis. I called because, well… he’s been calling out for you in his sleep.”

“Oh. He has?” Amidst the joy and unspeakable relief at hearing that Eli was _safe_ , Mantis felt a stab of something like guilt, shame, intense self-hatred for _not being there_ when this surely wasn’t the first time Eli had called for him.

“Yes. So, I broached the idea with V, and… he gave his permission for me to invite you to come to Mother Base, at least for a visit.”

Mantis’ mouth was very dry. “I can… come see Eli?” he said, his voice unintentionally small.

“Yes,” Ocelot said, and it was unsettlingly easy to imagine a kind, almost affectionate smile on Ocelot’s face when he said that. “You can afford to charter a private flight, can’t you…? So I’ll give you twelve hours to get to Victoria, Seychelles. I’ll send someone to pick you up from there.”

“Of- of course! I’ll be there.”

“I’ll tell Liquid you’re coming when he wakes up. I’ll see you then.”

“Yes!!”

Ocelot hung up. Mantis stared blankly at the phone for half a minute, then pinched himself - _hard_ \- to make sure he wasn’t dreaming after all.

No.

Eli was alive. He was _safe_. He was…

He was home.

Mother Base, Seychelles waters. Late afternoon.

Mantis jumped out of the helicopter before Pequod had even landed, or even gotten close enough to the platform to really warrant disembarkment… for people who couldn’t float like Mantis could. Immediately he beelined for ~~Eli~~ Liquid, who was leaning on a nearby railing, watching the helicopter with wide eyes and a slightly nervous expression.

His first impulse was, despite everything, to throw his arms around him and break down sobbing at their reunion and everything he’d gone through. But Liquid’s whole body stiffened in a terrified jerk as soon as Mantis had his arms up, and Mantis stopped cold with his hands an inch away from his shoulders.

_please don’t touch me_

Mantis swallowed hard. “What are you doing out here?” he said, scrambling, “you can barely stand.”

Liquid gave him a weak, uncertain smile. His chapped lips twitched as he did. “It’s nice to see you again, too, Mantis.”

“We will talk later, Eli,” Mantis said, spotting someone with a lot of medical knowledge walking briskly towards them. “For now I am simply glad you are still alive and intact. Go, back to bed with you.”

Mantis could sense the impending protest but the medical staffer caught up and ushered Liquid away. Liquid threw a faltering glance over his shoulder as he reluctantly let himself be led back to the medical platform, and Mantis didn’t follow.

Instead he turned to Venom, who had watched the whole exchange impassively. Strangely after ten years Mantis still felt a faint little tug of their former connection, but looking in his mind now he saw clarity and, well, a definitive explanation as to why there were _two_ Big Bosses, something Mantis’d never really been able to wrap his head around until now. “Your mind is much less jumbled now than it was when I last saw you ten years ago,” he said without thinking.

“Hm.”

He shook his head. That was beside the point. “You are vaguely wondering if Eli will stick around once he has healed. I will tell you now that he has not thought about it much and won’t come to a decision for a while yet - but should he choose to stay, I request that you add me to your ranks as well. I’m sure I can prove very useful to you.”

“You have no intention of leaving him,” Venom said.

Mantis crossed his arms. He heard Venom thinking how _young_ he was. “No,” Mantis said, “none. Look at what happened because I left him once.” Venom didn’t even know _all_ that had happened - just what Ocelot had told him. The medical team kept details private unless ordered otherwise, and Venom felt he didn’t need to know any more specifics. “Never again.”

Venom frowned slightly. “I’ll think about it,” he said after a moment.

“…thank you.”

…

No one else in the room seemed to notice Mantis when he walked in and settled in next to Liquid, seeming to sit on an invisible chair.

…

It was still too soon after being held prisoner; Liquid barely had the stamina to sustain a conversation, let alone an emotionally charged one like the kind Mantis had… sort of forced on him just now. Mantis would have liked to think that Liquid’s insistence that he leave Ocelot alone after what he _did_ was born out of exhaustion and just not wanting to deal with all that right now — but he knew it wasn’t. He knew Ocelot had gotten his claws in him. Knew that full well.

But with everything between _him_ and Ocelot, Mantis also knew full well that he simply wouldn’t be capable of giving Ocelot what he _deserved_ for _raping_ Liquid without Liquid’s approval. His order, even. He couldn’t do it without a way to distance it from his past with Ocelot entirely.

Liquid was tired after they talked, so Mantis stayed just long enough for him to drift off again and then left as quietly as he could. Ocelot was waiting for him right outside the door.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Mantis snarled before Ocelot could say anything, stalking past him.

“You’re so uncharitable.”

“I _saw_ in Eli’s mind what you _did_. You are _sick_ , Ocelot. You _disgust_ me.”

“Do you now? You know I only did that to save him. Liquid knows that, too.”

“You did _not_.” He kept walking. Why, oh, _why_ did Ocelot feel the need to keep following him? Staying on Mother Base was all well and good as long as he could be on a different platform from this _rapist_ entirely. “That is only your _excuse_. You did that for your own selfish reasons.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I know you. Unfortunately.”

“Ah, I see… I have a track record in your mind. A history of taking advantage for my own advantage.”

Mantis whirled around, fists clenched. “What happened in Moscow has nothing to do with this!!”

“When did I say anything about Moscow?” Ocelot said with a slightly smug grin.

Mantis jerked his head away, feeling like the bottom of his stomach had just dropped. “I could look past this _if_ you _had_ only done it for his sake,” he hissed, “but I know you did _not_. You are a predator, Ocelot, and Eli was vulnerable. It is as simple as that.”

“Speaking as former prey, then…?”

“I hate you.”

Ocelot sighed. “And here I thought you’d almost liked me.”

“I have _never_ liked you! Even back in the KGB!”

“Actions speak louder than words, _Bogomolechik_.”

Mantis’ whole body twitched in anger.

Ocelot rolled his eyes. “I knew the serial killer incident had made you a good deal more cynical, but here I was hoping it wouldn’t change the way you viewed the _people_ you were, in one way or another, close to… ah well. It doesn’t matter what your opinion is of me. You _do_ still care about Liquid, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Enough that I would _enjoy_ killing you for what you did to him!”

“…right. Well, having you around should help him mentally recover from everything that happened to him in Iraq. So long as you control your temper…” Ocelot’s gaze shifted to somewhere over Mantis’ shoulder. “Afternoon, Boss.”

Agh. Venom was standing right behind him; he hadn’t even noticed him walk up, he’d been too focused on his fury towards Ocelot. He jumped when Venom put a hand on his shoulder, although the touch was friendly. “What’s going on here?” he said.

Ocelot waved a hand. “Mantis is upset because of what I had to do in order to find Liquid’s location.”

“Oh.” Venom glanced at Mantis, who stayed deliberately silent. “I know it’s unfortunate, and it’s alright for you to be upset right now, but I’m sure you agree it’s much better for Eli to be out of the prison camp, even if he did have go through some torture in order to do it. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Mantis just gritted his teeth. This was infuriating, and he felt so helpless - he couldn’t bring himself to out Ocelot, not when Liquid didn’t want people to know what had happened to him…

Venom let go of him, oblivious to the real reason behind Mantis’ anger. “Since Ocelot already knew you, I just asked him where you should be assigned.”

“Is that so.”

“You’ll be on the intel team,” Ocelot said evenly, “unlike the KGB or the FBI, we’ll be able to make full use of you here without fear of discovery, even if it does end up being only a temporary arrangement after all.”

“Hn. Wait a— aren’t _you_ in charge of the intel unit?!”

“Yes,” Venom said. “You’ll be reporting directly to him.”

“What?!”

Ocelot shrugged. “I know the scope of your abilities, and how volatile you can be. But yes, this does mean you are expected to show me some respect.”

“ _You-_ — _respect?!_ ” Mantis said shrilly.

“I suppose you can shit-talk me to your little heart’s desire behind my back when you’re off-shift,” Ocelot said dryly, “but otherwise, I am your commanding officer. And I’m not about to give you as many second chances as I did back at the KGB. Behave yourself, Mantis, or else you’ll be ousted from Mother Base and _God_ knows when you’ll be able to see Liquid after that.”

Venom blinked. “You don’t need to be so hostile, Ocelot,” he said, then glanced at Mantis again. “You don’t have to stay on Mother Base to be with Eli. You can go back to your normal job if you want, and once Eli is well enough to travel then he can meet up with you in Victoria to visit. He could do this even if he decides to stay, plenty of personnel have families who live there.”

Like hell Mantis was going to leave Liquid alone here with Ocelot! “No,” he said firmly, “I will stay here. I can work under Ocelot.”

Venom smiled faintly at him — thinking this was the first sign of the abating of Mantis’ supposed ‘lashing out’ against Ocelot for lack of anyone else to blame for Liquid’s imprisonment.

“If that’s settled then,” Ocelot said, “follow me, Mantis.”

Mantis did so reluctantly and with a sour taste in his mouth. _I’m doing this for Eli_ , he told himself. Retribution against Ocelot could wait until Liquid felt up to it; in the meantime, Mantis had to endure being his subordinate and pretending he didn’t know what happened simply so that he could stay with Liquid. If nothing else, if he was around Ocelot a lot then he might have a good chance of preventing Ocelot from preying on Liquid again…

“Once you’re settled in and know how to do your job, I’ll be largely leaving you alone,” Ocelot said, “I have no interest in antagonizing you.”

“Nn.”

“Articulate as ever.” In the last ten years additional bridges had been built so that one no longer had to go to the central command platform in order to get anywhere on foot or by car. The intel platform, conveniently enough, neighbored the medical platform, so Ocelot was leading Mantis straight there. They walked and Mantis presumed it was so that they could talk alone. “For your information, Mantis…”

“More excuses?” Mantis said with as much disdain as he could possibly communicate.

“I _had_ to break him. That was the only way to do it.”

“It was _not_ ,” Mantis snapped, “there had to have been another way!!”

“Playing to pre-existing trauma is the fastest, most reliable way to shut someone down,” Ocelot said, not at all rising to Mantis’ anger, “and I was being very careful to not injure him physically _too_ badly. His body was already at its limit.”

“So I suppose _that’s_ why you practically _eviscerated_ him, then?” Mantis said with a snarl.

“It looked worse than it actually was, Mantis, that was the idea. Give him a nasty-looking wound so that the Iraqis would take me seriously when I told them not to touch him for a while. If they’d tried to take advantage of his new broken state before the Boss got there…”

“No,” Mantis said, putting his hands over his ears and digging his fingers into his hair, “stop it. Shut up. I don’t want to hear this.”

“I was only doing my best to save his life. You don’t have to like it.”

“I don’t! You didn’t save his life, you ruined it!!”

“It was already ruined. But now he’s in a place where he can pull himself back together.”

“Shut _up_ — that is just a convenient side effect that _covers_ for what you have done.” Rather like keeping Mantis out of the clutches of the University— no, no. Mantis pushed the thought away. Even with his store-bought cynicism he still found himself unable to rationalize that entire period of his life, for good or for bad. Better to not think of it at all.

“I didn’t enjoy doing it, you know,” Ocelot said, still as damnably calm as ever.

“I do not believe _that_ for a _second_.”

Ocelot shrugged, dropping that entire avenue of conversation completely. Feh. Took him this long to realize that there was nothing he could say to trick Mantis into thinking he _had_ done ‘the right thing’… he’d hurt Liquid, that was all Mantis cared about. He used finding his location as an excuse to do it, that was all.

Mantis didn’t exactly get the full tour of the intel platform, because Ocelot knew he didn’t need it, and he was marginally grateful for that - really he didn’t want to spend anymore time around Ocelot, and figured with Liquid still asleep there wouldn’t be too much risk of Ocelot going and bothering him, so no need to keep an eye on the man. Really all that happened was that Ocelot showed him the intel unit barracks and introduced him to a couple unit members who were hanging out there, then showed him radio room alpha, which was a Faraday cage for emergencies.

“Just close the door behind you and it’ll have the same effect as your lead foil, only without the health risk. Feel free to do as you like in there, the only stipulation is that you have to clear out if someone else needs it.”

“Hn.”

“…and if you won’t make any effort to get along with _me_ , I would still encourage you to at least _try_ to tolerate your teammates. It’ll make your stay here that much more pleasant for _all_ of us.”

“I have no quarrel with them, Ocelot, only you.”

“I’m sure they’ll get on your nerves eventually.” He glanced at the clock in the radio room. “It’ll be the evening shift soon… your training starts on the day shift tomorrow, 0800 hours. Meet me in my office then.”

“…”

Ocelot left radio room alpha, waving. “Stay out of trouble in the meantime.”

“Only if you do,” Mantis muttered sourly. Ocelot either didn’t hear him or, more likely, deliberately ignored him. He huffed.

Great. Just great.

Only yesterday he had thought that Liquid was dead and he had to move on, figure his life out all by himself, make his own way… and yes, he’d been miserable and completely incapable of finding any real direction, but he’d been working on it, hadn’t he? And now everything had been turned upside-down. He couldn’t deny how happy he was that Liquid was alive… safe… even accepted him back to his side, but… Ocelot…? The fact that he was _subordinate_ to him once again was just adding insult to injury.

But it was the only way to stay with Liquid. So he’d do it. For Eli.

Glancing around radio room alpha and frowning behind his mask, he reached out and brushed the wall with the tip of his fingers. Hard, smooth metal like every other wall on Mother Base, but very cool compared to the salt-tinged heat outside. _Well, Mantis…_ , he thought to himself.

_…welcome home._


	42. Half A Dozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'I once witnessed him take half a dozen bullets to the abdomen and still get back up and try to rip someone’s throat out with his teeth.'
> 
> "Octopus gave her a funny look. 'When did this happen?'
> 
> "'Back at Outer Heaven… we were partnered up for an outing, but things did not go well.'
> 
> "'I remember that,' Mantis said, shaking his head, 'he was off the medical platform again in a matter of days.'"
> 
> Or, Liquid is a stubborn dumbass, and Wolf's just doing her best.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> W/C 3,003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (don't @ me on the fact that the summary for this ficlet is an excerpt from a feetground chapter that won't be uploaded for like two months from now -pp)

1995, Afghanistan.

It was kind of weird that, at Outer Heaven, a “solo operation” could entail anything from one person to four or five… not including whoever was on radio support. And even then what kind of equipment the operator could bring with them varied from mission to mission, too, sometimes being totally OSP (reserved only for specialists like Venom and some of the S+/S++ rank soldiers — although Liquid _was_ trying to get on that list) and sometimes being able to bring, say, an entire tank and indiscriminate air support.

In this case “solo” meant two people who were allowed to bring small arms but were on their own for transportation. The LZ was about a mile and a half away from the outpost (Taliban, was it?) they were raiding, making it just a quick walk, really, so that wasn’t too bad. Liquid and Wolf were more than capable of that.

“What exactly _is_ it that I need to get, anyway?” Liquid said.

“You were briefed on this,” Mantis said over radio, sounding exceedingly bored. (Which was vastly preferable to the _first_ time he’d run support - _that_ had been mostly shrill arguing with Ocelot, which had lead directly to Liquid get scolded when he got back to Base for taking out his earbud for most of the sortie.) “There should be a floppy disk in this outpost, according to our reports, so you need to do is-“

“I _know_ I’m getting a floppy disk,” Liquid said, “I’m just wondering what’s _on_ it.”

“I do not know. That information was not shared with me. Just that it’s important.”

“Do you at least know if this is information we’re getting for our own purposes, or are we just getting paid to pass the disk along to a client?”

“…I would have to ask Ocelot about that.” Which meant, of course, that Liquid was not actually going to be finding that out unless he asked again when he got back to Mother Base.

“Why do they call it a floppy disk, anyway?” Wolf said, also over radio — she was in the field, but had split off from Liquid about a quarter mile back to head up the nearby cliffs to a good sniping position. Her role in this mission was support fire in case Liquid ran into trouble.

Liquid privately wondered if Venom was trying to draw a subtle parallel between him with Wolf and himself with Quiet as part of his ongoing effort to convince him to dump Ocelot, in favor of someone else if he had to. Yeah, Liquid totally knew about that even though Venom pretended to be okay with his relationship with Ocelot. Too many “Wolf’s a nice girl, don’t you think? And she’s pretty, too…”s and “You and Mantis are very close, have the two of you ever… you know…?”s for him _not_ be encouraging him to hook up with someone closer to his own age…

Funnily enough Liquid didn’t even mind that so much, probably because his frame of reference for “ _PLEASE BREAK UP WITH OCELOT_ ” consisted of EVA (when she was around), who was nosy and annoying about it, and Mantis, who frequently verged on hysterical and/or homicidal. Venom was just mildly disapproving and semi-conspicuously hoping for something ‘better’, but otherwise supportive and he’d even defend him against Mantis and EVA.

“…they’re not even floppy,” Wolf muttered, “they are just hard squares of plastic.”

“I really do not know,” Mantis said.

A couple minutes passed. Liquid had just gotten to the perimeter when Wolf reported that she was in position and had a good view of the encampment (an empty, possibly forcefully, village) and could even take shots through some of the windows if she had to.

“Probably not the building Eli needs to head to, though,” Mantis said. “Eli, do you see it? It should be in the center of the village.”

“Mhm. I’ll be right in and out, hopefully.”

“Be careful. It is heavy security.”

“I will cover for him,” Wolf said.

…

Wolf wasn’t entirely sure what Liquid _did_ but whatever it was was enough to bring _the whole outpost_ down on his head. Minutes after the alert started Liquid bolted out of there; Wolf followed him with her scope and picked off the guards closest to him, now out in the open.

“Why are you just _running?_ ” Wolf said over radio.

“I ran out of ammo five minutes ago and these goons have the _wrong fucking caliber_ for OSP and their _guns_ are pieces of _shit_ —“

“You are such a prima donna, Liquid.”

“Whatever! I’m getting out of here!! Cover me!”

“You remember that my rifle is bolt-action, yes? One shot at a time. Plus I have to line up my shot…”

“You know, _Quiet_ could get rid of all these soldiers in a _minute_ , _and_ she wouldn’t have to wait for me to draw them away from the buildings—”

“I am not Quiet, I’m still in training, alright! And don’t pretend that you are intentionally drawing them away from their outpost, you are being _chased!_ You are fleeing for your life!”

“So it serves a dual function!”

Mantis cut in. “Do you two want me to go ahead and send someone to pick you up from the nearest LZ?”

“That’s two miles from here,” Liquid grumbled sourly, diving behind a sand-swept pickup truck with no tires as Wolf put a round through the forehead of the closest soldier to him.

“Then shake off your pursuers and start walking.”

“More like Wolf needs to kill all these bastards! Or at least _they_ need to start getting close enough for me to beat them into submission _before_ they shoot me in the back.”

“Just go ahead and send Pequod, Mantis,” Wolf said, shooting another guy.

“Fine,” Mantis said, then signed off.

“Liquid, this one approaching your position has a machete instead of a gun,” Wolf said, sweeping over the group of soldiers. “Do you want to handle him?”

“Would I! There’s an old crowbar here, I’m going to cave his skull in.”

Liquid sprang out from behind the truck and engaged the machete-wielding soldier, a spray of bullets from the others hitting the truck’s rusted exterior and ground nearby. Some of the soldiers were blindfiring in Wolf’s direction, although none of their shots hit as worrying close to her as they were with Liquid.

“Get to cover, Liquid,” Wolf said as he drove the sharp end of the crowbar into the soldier’s chest, getting it stuck there.

“I _am_ in cover,” he said, ducking behind the truck again.

“Better cover! That old thing will not hold up against— someone just came out with a sub-machine gun!”

“Well, take him out!”

Wolf concentrated fire on the man with the sub-machine gun, but he was wearing body armor so center mass was sort of out of the question, and he had one of the those obnoxious helmets that interrupted headshots. She knew there was a certain way to hit them that would flip them right off the enemy’s head, but she’d always had trouble getting the hang of that, so she was a bit occupied for about a full minute and then she head Liquid scream over the radio.

“What happened?!” Wolf said, swinging her scope back over to his position.

“N-Nothing!” Liquid said, pressing himself back against the side of the truck opposite the outpost. Wolf couldn’t see blood but she could see him holding his hand to his side. “Just got grazed, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Mantis said, cutting in on radio again, “Eli, why did you have to wait to get shot until _after_ I designated the LZ? Pequod left _without_ a medic.”

“I don’t need a medic, it’s only a scrape!”

“Liquid,” Wolf said, “they’re circling around the truck, they are about to surround you—“

“I’ll deal with them, you get the stragglers!”

Wolf switched back to the sub-machine gun soldier, took him out, then switched back to Liquid’s truck — just in time to see him get shot another five times - knocking him on his back - by four soldiers who had him surrounded. She grimaced. Body armor wasn’t worn during ops like these, and they’d been aiming for his chest and stomach instead of his limbs…

“Wolf, what are you doing?!” Mantis shrieked over the radio. “You are supposed to be covering him!”

“I— I cannot be everywhere at once, there are too many of them!”

“You _idiot!!_ He is going to die and _I_ am going to _kill_ you for it!”

“Mantis, shut up,” Liquid groaned. “I _said_ I’d handle this.”

With that Liquid got up and lunged towards the soldier standing directly in front of him. Wolf watched in shock - as did the enemy soldiers - as Liquid used CQC to disarm the soldier and proceeded to _clamp his teeth onto the soldier’s neck and rip out his throat_ , resulting in a jet of blood across the sand.

“…why is he like this,” Mantis said over radio. “Nevermind! Wolf!!”

“I know, I know!” She lined up another shot.

It was all said and done after that in just under two minutes. The alert cleared by virtue of the fact that every Taliban soldier in the outpost was now dead, most of them by Wolf’s rifle, none of them as spectacularly grisly as the one Liquid had killed with his teeth.

“Is he okay??” Mantis demanded as Wolf half-jogged, half-slid down the cliffs. “He hasn’t been responding to me. I think he took out his earbud. Can you see him, is he still moving around?”

“Were you fussing over him?”

“I was not _fussing_ , Wolf, he’s just been _shot_ and I am _concerned_ —“

Liquid waved, not with his usual energy but not weakly either, as Wolf approached.

“How many times was that, anyway, did you see? Six? It was hard to tell with all the other gunfire I could hear.”

“He is fine, Mantis,” Wolf said, walking up to Liquid and slinging her rifle over her shoulder. “Aren’t you, Liquid?”

“All good,” Liquid said, giving her a thumbs up. Although his other hand was pressing over one of particularly bad wounds, and he was covered in blood and Wolf had genuinely no idea how much of it was his own.

“…are you sure?”

“I’m not dead.”

“I can see that.”

“Tell him to put his earbud back in,” Mantis said.

Instead of telling him, she simply grabbed his dangling earbud and shoved it back into his ear herself. He glared at her in discomfort. “Let’s go to the LZ,” she said. “Can you… walk?”

“Of course I can,” Liquid said, standing up and then immediately losing his balance and stumbling against the truck, hissing at the bang of metal against his bulletwounds.

“It is two miles to the LZ,” Wolf said, frowning, “I cannot carry you.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Liquid said, standing up again. “I just might… need to lean on you every so often but _honestly_ it’s not nearly as bad as it looks-“

“You were shot six times!”

“And not all anywhere important for _walking_. Let’s go.”

“I could call Pequod and re-set the LZ,” Mantis said, “with the outpost captured, he could come land exactly where you are already.”

“No! That won’t be necessary!”

“ _Eli_ …”

“Let’s go, Wolf.”

“Alright,” Wolf said dubiously.

Before they started back to the LZ, Wolf dug a small first aid kit out of the same pack she used to carry her rifle ammo, although it was more equipped to handle one, maybe two minor gunshot injuries, not six moderate ones. (“Minor,” Liquid insisted. Although to be fair he really didn’t seem to be bleeding all that much, but probably because at least four of the bullets seemed to be embedded in his flesh still.) Liquid’s shirt ended up being cannibalized as makeshift bandages, _then_ they started walking to LZ.

After five minutes Liquid started bitching about how all the blood was getting unpleasantly sticky under the heat of the sun, but shut up after Mantis offered to change the LZ again. Liquid’s muttered complaints died down again as they started to get within a third of a mile of the LZ, this time because all the blood loss and bullets in his body were starting to take its toll, and soon after he fell quiet he started to struggle to walk and had to lean on Wolf’s shoulder for the last quarter-mile.

Liquid sat down on the ground at the LZ with a huff, grimacing at he squeezed his arms against his wounds tighter. Wolf looked down at him, frowning slightly. “Are you sure you are alright?”

“Yes… well, I mean, I don’t feel _great_ , certainly I’ve been better, but I’ve _definitely_ been worse.”

“I bet the medical team is starting to get tired of you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” He brushed sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead, letting out a wheeze of a sigh. “Okay. That could have definitely gone better, I’ll admit.”

“How does this fit into your ranking system? ‘E’?”

“‘C’.”

“What? You barely made it out of there alive, and even then only because I was providing cover fire.”

“Well, yes,” Liquid said, then reached into his pants pocket, “but I _did_ fulfill the mission objective…” He held up the floppy disk with a grin.

“…oh. I thought you hadn’t gotten it.”

“Is he serious right now?” Mantis said over the radio.

Liquid tossed the disk at Wolf, who caught it and tucked it into her pack. “When will Pequod get here?” he said.

“A few minutes,” Mantis said.

“Great. I’m going to pass out now.”

“What?” Wolf said.

Liquid proceed to slump over unconscious.

“What?!”

Wolf pre-empted Mantis’ frantic “What just happened?! Is he alright?!” by dropping to her knees and checking on Liquid. He was still breathing (wheezing hoarsely, granted, but breathing) and his pulse was strong, so he was literally just unconscious, probably because of a combination of low blood pressure and finally running out of adrenaline. She assured Mantis that he was still okay…ish… and then looked up at the sky. Shading her eyes with her hand, she could vaguely make out a helicopter in the far distance and presumed - hoped, really - that it was Outer Heaven’s.

Wolf waited next to Liquid sprawled out on the ground, and motioned for Pequod to land completely when he got close enough to see. As soon as he did, Wolf opened the door and poked her head in.

“Liquid is unconscious and he is like ten times heavier than my rifle so I cannot lift him into the helicopter by myself.”

“Uh,” Pequod said, “that’s not good. Why is unconscious?”

“He got shot half a dozen times. He is fine, though, just unconscious.”

“…”

Pequod got out of the pilot seat, hopped out of the chopper, and helped Wolf lift Liquid into it, getting blood all down the front of both their uniforms.

“Is all of this blood his?” he asked.

“No,” Wolf said. “He tore out an enemy soldier’s throat with his teeth. It was actually kind of impressive.”

“Wait. Did you say his _teeth?_ ”

“Yes. He didn’t have any other weapons.”

“…is it just me, or does every other mission he goes on end up like this?”

“Maybe without the unconsciousness…”

Mother Base. Medical platform.

“Eli, are you-?!”

“I’m fine, Mantis. —really, I am. They took the bullets out already.”

Liquid smiled disarmingly at Mantis, who quickly swapped his worry for annoyance. Liquid had bled enough that he’d gotten IV saline to boost his blood volume, but an actual transfusion hadn’t been necessary (which was fortunate, transfusable blood was in short supply on Mother Base and could only be used in the most dire of circumstances).

“Aren’t you not off your shift yet?”

“I— I had to come see if you were alright. That mission was a disaster!”

“I got the floppy disk or whatever.”

“Do you have any idea how worried I was??”

“I can make a good guess,” Liquid said, then looked over Mantis’ shoulder. “Oh, hello, Ocelot!”

Mantis stiffened, then glanced back over his shoulder, snarling audibly. Ocelot just gave him - well, both of them - an unimpressed look.

“I suppose given the circumstances I can excuse you running off without completing your duties, Mantis,” he said dryly. “Liquid… how are you feeling?”

“I’m _fine_ , what’s everyone going on about? Honestly…”

“…there’s no point in discussing this with you. I’m glad everything worked out.”

“Then you can leave now,” Mantis said stiffly.

“Oh? Then _you_ can go back to the intel platform and finish up your work.”

Venom opened the door the injury ward, greeting a couple of the other presently-bedridden personnel on his way to Liquid’s bedside. “Cunning Mongoose said he had to pull a bullet out of your lung.”

“Something like that,” Liquid said with a frown. “I remember it hurt a lot and then he tried to give me painkillers. Which I didn’t bother taking anyway…”

“Stubborn,” Mantis chided.

“ _I_ don’t think I need them! Anyway, I think that’s the reason why he said I have to stay in bed for a while, but… well, I’m sure I’ll be out and about by Thursday…”

“Don’t push yourself, Eli,” Venom said. “I’m just glad you made it back alive. Get some rest.”

Liquid squirmed, hiding a grin. “If you say so, Father.”

And he ended up being right, anyway; he was off the medical platform again by Thursday, which was also the day Ocelot finally came down hard enough on Mantis to get him to finish that report, which put him in a bad mood despite Liquid’s clean bill of health. Cunning Mongoose, along with several other members of the medical staff, were seriously starting to wonder if Liquid was immortal or something.

What exactly was up with that floppy disk, Liquid never bothered finding out. And while Liquid was getting the bullets extracted, Wolf helped Pequod hose the blood out of his chopper.


	43. Extra art 3

 

  
(illustration of "الكلبة")

   
(a response to a comment of... Brambora's, I believe? And also hingabee. They both said this.)


	44. Fanart 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More lovely fanart from lovely [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee)!! KGB Mantis (and Ocelot)!


	45. Fanart 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFM render created by [Brambora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambora) for chapter six of _Wherever I Go, I'll Make It Home_.

  
  



	46. Megane (Collab)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid gets glasses.  
> Art by [hingabee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee).
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 755

199X, FOXHOUND headquarters.

All members of FOXHOUND were required to get quarterly physicals; it was one of Colonel Campbell’s policies (although Mantis, somehow, always managed to worm his way out of it). Ordinarily this was handled by whichever poor sap on the medical team didn’t have enough going on already, but Liquid was… not a _special case_ per se, at least not officially, but _somehow_ the normally elusive Dr. Clark always found time in her schedule to personally see to Liquid’s physicals.

(Yeah, it was because of the clone thing. Liquid already knew that Dr. Clark was the one who carried out Les Enfants Terribles — he’d known _that_ for over a decade. He’d just never figured out how to react to it since, despite being the one who had cursed him to this existence, Dr. Clark was very nice to him and seemed to have absolutely no grasp of how fucked up that project was.)

“Alright… and now,” Dr. Clark said, checking off something on her clipboard as Liquid sourly rubbed at where she’d just drawn blood, “the eyesight test.”

“At least we’re done with needles.”

“Oh, they’re not so bad. Which reminds me… is that the reason why your friend Mantis always disappears when it’s time for physicals?”

“One of them, he doesn’t like medical stuff in general. It’s a lost cause at this point, there’s no reason to pester him about it…”

“What are you acting so defensive about?” Dr. Clark said, pulling out an eye chart.

“I’m not being defensive.”

“I didn’t say you were, dear.”

“You literally just-— hmph.” He’d never understand this woman.

She put up the eye chart on the wall and went through the typical, boring routine of ‘read the chart, cover your right eye and read it again, cover your left eye and read it again’. Truth be told Liquid’s vision wasn’t very good in his right eye, although his vision was perfect in his left (and _had_ been perfect in his right eye until… well). However he didn’t want anyone to actually _know_ about this, so every time he had to take this exam… he secretly memorized the letters on the chart before having to cover his left eye.

“E… A… G… V….” he ‘read off’ as Dr. Clark pointed to the letters in a row.

Dr. Clark was silent for a moment. “Just a moment,” she said, taking down the poster.

Liquid blinked. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! Only…” she pulled out another poster. “Keep your left eye _closed_ , Eli.”

Liquid’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “Don’t call me-“

“I said keep it closed!”

Liquid grumbled but followed her directions as she put up the new poster. Ahh, fuck. Different letters… maybe he could still bluff his way out of this if he answered well enough before she got to the smaller letters…

“G, S, R, F, A, E… A… U… M… er…”

“Having trouble?”

“No, of course not! That’s— another E.”

“…it’s a B, honey.”

“Wh-what?”

“What about this one?”

“…W! of course. And then… a… P. V. O.”

“Q.”

“Eh?”

“That’s a Q, not an O.”

“…well it’s so bloody tiny, that’s not my fault!” Liquid snapped, uncovering his left eye again to glare at her.

She gave him a severe look. “Tiny,” she said, “or _blurry?_ Can you still see it with your left eye?”

“I—“ This was a trap. “No, of course not, I _said_ it was too tiny to read, didn’t I?!”

“Yet you were reading letters even _smaller_ just fine a minute ago…”

Liquid grimaced. Caught out at last, wasn’t he…

Dr. Clark quickly figured out that Liquid’s bad vision wasn’t a remotely recent thing and he’d been _lying_ to her, so he got a nice, long chiding lecture about being honest with medical personnel, during which she managed to get out of him what _happened_ to his eye to get his vision so bad, and was frankly horrified.

“That’s disgusting,” she said.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion!!”

“Well, anyway,” Dr. Clark said, putting her hands on her hips, “I’m afraid this calls for an optometrist…”

“A— what?! No!”

“Yes.”

“But they’ll probably try to make me wear _glasses_. I don’t want glasses, I don’t need-“

“Eli, your vision in your right eye is _awful_.”

“Don’t call me Eli! And my _left_ eye works perfectly _fine_.”

“Then I’m sure the left lens will just be a plain piece of glass. I mean, if you want I’m sure they could give you a monocle—“

“Noooo!”


	47. Memes 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the exception of the Always Sunny meme, every single one of these was made by Brambora. Confused Mantis artwork comes from [mgsvtretij on tumblr](http://http://mgsvtretij.tumblr.com/).

  
  



	48. Setting Sail, Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Quiet left, and came back, and stayed.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 2,579

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly inspired by arieni's [_Look, It's Not What It Sounds Like_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10150622/chapters/22554149), but this certainly wouldn't exist without it. Ergh... I think it's more along the lines of reading arieni's excellent take on Quiet made me want to put out some Quiet content myself...

1994, Mother Base.

Liquid was still kind of playing catch-up with everything that had happened over the past ten years, especially what had happened over the past three and a half — he’d been shocked to hear Ocelot mention the fall of the Soviet Union, even though it had definitely looked like it was heading that way by the time Liquid even _joined_ the SAS, but there had been… more pressing matters at hand at that time so he’d had to go back and ask what the heck was going on in Europe now later.

Geopolitics aside, he had a decade’s worth of Diamond Dogs/Outer Heaven gossip to catch up. Miller he’d already heard about: he ‘fell back to his womanizing ways’ (Miller? A womanizer? He cared about things besides Cipher and being an asshole to kids??) and got some Seychellois woman pregnant (how on earth did he find a woman willing to tolerate his sweaty, greasy rumpledness and constant scowl long enough to have sex with him?), but she refused to abort so Miller ‘did the right thing’ and ‘took responsibility for the child’ and yeah they had a shotgun wedding. Liquid knew plenty of Outer Heaven staff who had spouses and children who, aside from a handful married to _other_ still-working members of Outer Heaven, lived in Victoria and got frequent visits. For some reason Miller didn’t go down this route and left Diamond Dogs entirely, moving back to America with his new wife. According to everyone except Ocelot and Venom, it was Ocelot’s fault this happened because he got jealous and caused a scene at the wedding… although judging by Quiet’s expression, Venom was just being tactful when he shrugged in response to Liquid asking why Miller just _left_.

Speaking of Quiet, Liquid had initially thought that not much had changed on her end aside from the Diamond Dogs soldiers finally warming up to her. She still had her own room to sun in on the medical platform, but the cage bars and guards were long gone. She now held a position of some authority aside from being attached to Venom at the hip - she trained all the snipers in the combat unit (and everyone knew Wolf was her favorite; apparently she’d been there when Venom had first picked her up, which probably had something to do with it). At some point she’d learned sign language and started using that to communicate anything too complex to convey with a facial expression and a grunt. Liquid was still getting the hang of it; so far he’d memorized the alphabet and numbers, and a couple other signs, but for the most part was pretty lost whenever Quiet was ‘talking’ to someone. Especially since she went so fast.

Talking with Wolf revealed a few things that just left Liquid’s curiosity more piqued. Mostly the part where, not long after Liquid left from the sound of it, Quiet vanished and was missing for several months before Venom brought her back. Wolf didn’t have all the details, though, that was before she came. Liquid had also heard from some of the more veteran staff members while trying to get dirt on Huey about a second vocal cord parasite outbreak ten years ago where the parasites had mutated and things got pretty crazy and Venom had to mercy-kill multiple staff members. This was troubling because Quiet seemed to still have the vocal cord parasite, judging by the way she still lived up to her name, so… did that mean there was a chance that hers would mutate, too…? Why had she been brought back in that case? Why was she still _alive_ , why hadn’t anything been done about this? (Liquid’s initial thought was that she’d taken out her vocal cords somehow, but she still hummed and made small noises, so she clearly still had them.)

Better to get the whole story straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Or rather, to get the story from Venom, but Quiet was sitting right next to him cleaning one of her rifles at the time, so if she wanted to contribute then Venom could interpret her sign language for Liquid.

Venom nodded. “It _wasn’t_ long after you left. She vanished right after the mutation incident.”

“What exactly _was_ the mutation incident?” Liquid said, sitting down across from them. “I heard Dr. Emmerich had something to do with it.”

Quiet rolled her eyes irritably, her black eye-markings briefly flaring up. Venom frowned. “I’m not really sure what he was after,” he said, “and I’m not sure he actually thought it through enough for it to actually occur to him that someone might have to… that something bad might happen.”

Quiet made an angry sign that, while Liquid didn’t know what it meant per se, got across pretty clearly that she was sure Huey knew the risks and decided to do it anyway. Then she signed something at Liquid, then pursed her lips when Liquid just gave her a blank look and spelled out “G-R-E-E-D-Y S-O-N O-F” and Liquid already knew the sign for “bitch”.

Venom went on like the exchange hadn’t happened. “Huey tampered with lab equipment to emit beta radiation. That mutated the parasites—“ Quiet signed something, “—oh right, and the Wolbochia too. Are you familiar with the _Leucochloridium_ worm, Eli?”

“Their common name is ‘broodsacs’, right?” Liquid said, “they’re the ones that parasitize snails and make their eye-stalks look like caterpillars and force the snails to stay out in the open so that birds will eat them and keep spreading them around. I read about them in one of Mantis’ books ages ago,” he added, somewhat awkwardly.

Venom nodded. “It was like that - everyone infected had an uncontrollable desire to get out into the open. They smelled sweet instead of looking like caterpillars, though.” Quiet signed something, shaking her head. Venom’s frown deepened. “Yeah… they were incredibly infectious, so if the birds managed to spread the parasite to the mainland…”

“So you had to kill them.”

“…”

Liquid shrugged. Made sense to him. Certainly it wouldn’t have been an easy thing for Venom to do, but doing so saved the lives of not only the rest of Diamond Dogs but also wide swathes of the world’s population.

Quiet started signing something. Either Venom interpreted or she just told him to get on with the rest of the story. “Since Quiet still had the vocal cord parasites, she wondered if something like that might happen to her, too… even though the faulty equipment was fixed—“ Quiet shot him an annoyed look. “It _was_. You could have talked to Code Talker about it instead of just running off.”

“And so…?” Liquid said before what he imagined was an argument they’d had many times could actually get under way.

“So she snuck out on a helicopter and got picked up by Soviets.” Quiet started signing something rapidly, with an extremely annoyed expression. “Why _wouldn’t_ we track you down?” Liquid recognized the sign for “reckless” somewhere in there. “They were kind of in the process of killing you when I got there, Quiet…”

“Er,” Liquid interrupted. “ _How?_ ”

Quiet just gestured over her body. Oh. Must have covered her up, then. Even with her superpowers it’d be pretty difficult to beat anyone off if she was pretty much asphyxiating. She signed something else to Venom.

The corner of Venom’s mouth twitched. “Getting killed by them _was_ the plan, but it wasn’t going like she wanted it to.”

Liquid knew the signs for “kill” and “glorious”… and the sign for “motherfuckers”, which was fairly obvious where _that_ fit in. Quiet had wanted to go out in a blaze of commie-murder, a final ‘fuck you’ to the Soviet Union and possibly Cipher by extension.

“But instead of that,” Venom said, “somehow they knew how to incapacitate her, so they were just pushing her around and…” he glanced at Quiet, who shrugged. “One of the soldiers held her down in a watering trough until she stopped moving, and then he tried to rape her.”

Venom said it really matter-of-factly, but nonetheless Liquid could feel himself tense. Maybe he wasn’t surprised — that was just what _happened_ to POWs who made a nuisance of themselves somehow, right? And Quiet would have been coming to the Soviets with bad blood in the first place, considering how many of them she had shot. So they’d wanted to demonstrate power over her. Seemed like the only ways to do that and get the point across were pain, humiliation, or death, and the latter relieved the first two. Rape combined the first two quite effectively and any half-wit could do it as long as they had something to shove _in_ and their victim couldn’t fight back.

So if even someone like _Quiet_ could fall prey to that…

“So then what happened?” Liquid said, swallowing awkwardly.

Quiet abruptly grinned and mimed a jumpsuit being unzipped.

“Oh.”

Venom nodded. “Since she could breathe again,” he said, “she just jumped up and took out all the soldiers in the camp with her bare hands. Okay… the first couple guys she still had her hands tied for, and then she stole a knife. And there was that one man she used a grenade on. But other than that…”

“ _Glorious_ ,” Quiet signed.

“I was watching from the edge of the camp the whole time. I’d come to rescue her, but she… was doing a pretty good job of rescuing herself.”

Liquid was silent.

Venom picked up that something was wrong. “What’s the matter, Eli?”

“Oh… oh, no, it’s nothing, Father.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation right now.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Prison camps probably aren’t the most comfortable topic for you…”

“It’s fine, really! What happened next, after they were all dead?”

Venom and Quiet exchanged a glance. Quiet, who had a concerned expression, signed something to Venom - her hands moved _almost_ too fast for Liquid to catch the way she spelled out “R-A-P-E”. Venom just shook his head. Quiet glanced at Liquid.

“Well?” Liquid blurted out, desperate to move past the subject entirely.

Venom blinked, but continued the story. A huge battle with just the two of them versus half a detachment’s worth of Soviet military vehicles, dragging Quiet out of there, a snakebite, a sandstorm reducing communications to patchy audio-only. Quiet speaking English in order to direct Pequod to where Venom was, then recording over one of Venom’s tapes to explain herself. Her disappearing into the desert.

“…so wait,” Liquid said, “if your parasites’ language is English, then why…?”

“Code Talker figured it out after we got her back,” Venom said. “Quiet’s lungs were burned pretty bad - that’s why she has the ‘one that covers’ parasite, because her alveoli were too damaged to work anymore. As it turned out, that meant that her vocal cord parasites were starving to begin with.”

Liquid blinked. “But… she still doesn’t talk?”

“Starving, not dead. Since they were so malnutritioned and Quiet didn’t speak for very long, the parasites never activated.” Quiet signed something. Venom added, “when I first brought her back to Base, though, she wore a respirator for a while until we could confirm that they hadn’t reached an infectious stage, either.” Quiet signed something again. Venom sighed. “Her original plan was to just have a cordectomy - removing the vocal cords entirely, that is - and perform it on herself if necessary. But I thought it’d be best if she could still speak in case of emergencies… all the helicopter pilots know a few key phrases in Navajo now, in case something like that comes up again.”

Liquid raised his eyebrows. “Navajo?”

Quiet shrugged.

“In the meantime we started an ASL program. It took a while to get off the ground, sign language involves a lot of spelling and Quiet was illiterate—“

“Illiterate, really?”

Quiet explained, Venom interpreted. “It’s really easy for a kid to fall through the cracks in a reservation school… and she ended up dropping out, anyway. She knew her numbers and could still memorize the shape of letters and words, so she never had any trouble navigating or anything like that, but she couldn’t read or write. Skull Face used that to control her.” Quiet signed something about a job, rolling her eyes again. Presumably Skull Face was the only person willing to hire her despite her illiteracy… and, Liquid supposed, the reservation thing explained why she knew Navajo. Admittedly she didn’t _look_ very Native American, but from Liquid’s understanding a lot of the distinct physical features of their race had faded over generations of intermarrying with other races… and having white ancestry didn’t necessarily mean a family moved away from their tribe, so…

“But wait,” Liquid said. “Even without having to do a cordectomy, why not just use the Wolbochia? Or did you just not want to be sterilized?” he asked Quiet.

Quiet shook her head. “Only men were sterilized with the Wolbochia treatment,” Venom said. “It was… I think the Wolbochia would have interfered with her ‘one that covers’ parasites, Quiet, do you know?” Quiet shrugged. “It was something like that… this was nine years ago. I think Ocelot would remember, if you’re curious, Eli.”

“Hm…”

“So, nowadays… she still has the parasite, so she still can’t speak in English. And Code Talker died a few years ago, so she doesn’t have anyone to speak Navajo with, and she’s tried learning a couple other languages but never really manages to reach a conversational level…” Quiet stuck her tongue out at him. “But as long as she doesn’t speak, we shouldn’t have any problem with her vocal cord parasites. Code Talker also said that any mutation in _hers_ would likely be harmless because of how weak they are…” Quiet signed something. “…right… and thanks to ‘the one that covers’, even if her parasites did activate then she’d be fine, we’d just need to worry about it spreading. Which would be bad enough.”

“I see…” Liquid said. “So then, how did you bring her back to Mother Base after she ran off? You didn’t just _come_ back, did you?”

Quiet shook her head, waving a hand.

“She was worried about me,” Venom said. “After… what was it, a month…?” Quiet nodded with a ‘so-so’ hand gesture. “After about a month she started stalking me… following me around in secret on missions to make sure I was safe. It didn’t take long before I figured out she was doing this, but it was months until I got actual confirmation of it.” Quiet signed something irritably. Venom chuckled. “Her green laser-sight is kind of distinctive…”

“R-I-S-K-E-D H-I-S L-I-F-E,” Quiet spelled out, then signed “find me”.

“Once I knew she was there, I managed to track her down and she didn’t put up _that_ much of a fight against coming back to Mother Base. Everyone was glad to see her again, even Kaz… although this was, I think, only two or three weeks before he left…” Quiet snorted.

“So you’ve just been here ever since, huh…” Liquid said. Quiet nodded again, starting to re-assemble her rifle.

“I’m glad she stayed this time,” Venom said with a soft smile.

Quiet gave him a thumbs-up, then got up, slung her rifle over her back, and departed, giving Liquid a friendly slap on the back as she did. Liquid tensed again, but didn’t think Venom noticed this time.

Or, at least, he didn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a specific sign in ASL for ‘rape’, actually, but I looked it up and evidently it’s more common to spell it out.


	49. Character portraits 3




	50. Who Brought the Twine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending to "Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли 5". **NOT** to be considered 'canon', or at least in continuity with Make It Home, PbP, BMWIB, FeetGround, or any Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли ficlet taking place chronologically after this.
> 
> Ocelot's normally superhuman self-control fails him.
> 
> Explicit - Underage, dubcon  
> W/C 3,016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon request, further egged on by the motherfuckers in my Discord server. lol

1991, Moscow. Bogomol’s apartment.  
The attempt to free himself of debt.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” Bogomol said quietly, “my body is yours to use as you please… for tonight.”

“You have no idea what you’re offering,” Ocelot breathed.

“I know about your torture fetish, Ocelot. …all I ask is that I still be able to walk in the morning.” He put his hands over Ocelot’s, leading them up his legs to his hips. “Anything else… I’ll do what you want and I won’t resist, I promise. I’ll even pretend to enjoy it if you like that.”

 _Idiot_.

There was only one thing Ocelot could do in this situation.

…

Bogomol was rocking his hips against Ocelot’s hand… he tipped his head back and made a high-pitched moan.

“O-Ocelot- I’m gonna—!”

Ocelot stopped. Drew back. Stepped away.

“Not yet,” he said.

Bogomol fell silent, visibly biting his tongue. Ocelot frowned. Normally he had nothing less than complete self-control, but the rope of it had been reduced to a thread and he knew if he went _any_ further than he’d already gone then it would snap. Here he was at the point of no return; shake his head and say nevermind and explain to Bogomol that he was a _child_ and Ocelot didn’t hold debts from _children_ — stop now and let this lesson be taught and this incident fade into the past; continue and satisfy himself and ruin Bogomol.

“I’m not through with you.”

Something about this damn kid really tested Ocelot’s self-control. Something about how damned helpless and vulnerable and naïve and, despite his denials, _trusting_ he was. He was prey, a lost little lamb in the den of wolves that was the KGB and a friendly wildcat could lead him away to safety but _was still a predator_.

“What… what are you going to do with me?” Bogomol panted, little shivers visibly running through his body.

“Do you have— no, of course you wouldn’t. Do you have lotion around here somewhere?”

It took Bogomol a second to process what the lotion would be for, and although the thought gave him a sudden but vague expression of terror, he nodded. “In my bathroom… next to the sink.”

“Get undressed,” Ocelot said curtly, turning around. “Or at least take your pants off. …you can keep the stockings on, Bogomolechik.”

Bogomol’s bottle of lotion was already mostly empty but to be honest, Ocelot didn’t plan on using much; he was only going for it because Bogomol was young and inexperienced and significantly smaller than Ocelot as long as height was discounted. His thin frame and narrow hips in particular presumably didn’t leave much room for… accommodation. And there was no reason to disregard his request for being able to walk the next morning even if Ocelot was still thinking he really, _really_ should _not_ being doing this _at all_.

When he got back to the kitchen, Bogomol was still sitting on the table with his clothes sloppily folded beside him, completely naked aside from his stockings (which he’d tugged back up his thighs, they’d been starting to slip) and nervously hiding his erection with his hands. He couldn’t quite make eye contact with Ocelot. Ocelot noticed that the previously knocked-over glass of vodka again was upright again, and the bottle itself had been emptied a little more.

“For your nerves, hm?” Ocelot said, setting down the lotion next to Bogomol and leaning in, turning the vodka glass upside-down and resting it on its rim. Bogomol shook his head, but when Ocelot kissed him again his suspicions were confirmed: he tasted like vodka.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Bogomol whispered when Ocelot drew back enough.

“I might.”

“…do you… do you want me to—“

“If I want you to do something, then I’ll tell you, Bogomolechik.”

“…”

Bogomol looked away. Naïve he may be, but he was perceptive enough to know that Ocelot wasn’t the type of sadist who got off on his victims _enjoying_ themselves. Which wasn’t to say that couldn’t be hot - a thousand ill-advised nights with a certain glorified accountant had proved that - but that was the opposite of Bogomol’s appeal.

Last chance to back off.

He didn’t.

Ocelot moved quickly, suddenly, and without warning, grabbing both of Bogomol’s wrists in one hand and slamming him back down onto the table, kneeing his legs apart, and tugging the glove off his other hand with his teeth. Bogomol’s whole body stiffened, but he knew better than to struggle or fight back, especially with his psychic powers. That’d defeat the point, after all.

Glove thrown on the table, Ocelot smiled mirthlessly down at Bogomol — he could feel his heart beating rabbit-fast where he was pinning his hands above his head, while his other hand went directly for his ass, brushing his fingertips over his balls before delving between his cheeks. Bogomol let out a strange little squeak.

“Do you want me to go easy on you, Bogomolechik?” Ocelot said, leaning in close again. “Be gentle with you? You’ve had a rough day. I can oblige you… for now.”

“Ah— a-ah—- Ocelot…“

“Well?”

Slowly Bogomol nodded.

Ocelot circled a finger around his hole, shifting to nip at Bogomol’s ear. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you this will be easier if you keep your muscles relaxed.”

“I… I know…”

“Good boy.”

Working two fingers in without any kind of lubrication (other than maybe sweat) wasn’t exactly hard. Bogomol gasped out tiny sounds, whimpering a little, especially when Ocelot spread his fingers - then rolled his wrist, hooking his fingers straight into Bogomol’s prostate.

“A- _Ah!!_ Agh, gh, oh, O-Ocelot-!”

“Enjoying yourself, Bogomolechik?”

“Stop- stop calling me that…”

It took less than a minute to bring Bogomol back precariously close to the edge of orgasm, so Ocelot moved his fingers again, going back to stretching him rather carelessly instead of massaging his prostate. Bogomol’s heated panting evened out a little, and at length he dared to squirm.

“What, Bogomolechik, eager to get to the next part?”

“U-Um—“

Ocelot pulled out his fingers, letting go of Bogomol’s hands at the same time. Bogomol swallowed hard, staring up at Ocelot with big, sad eyes. He flinched when Ocelot unzipped his fly.

“What’s the matter?” Ocelot said, jerking himself a few times to get to full hardness. “Having second thoughts?”

“No… ahh, no, I… I can’t back down now,” Bogomol struggled to get out, scraping his nails against the tabletop again.

“Hmm. Well, I commend your resolve.” He squirted some lotion onto his hand, thumbed a little around Bogomol’s twitching hole, and spread the rest over his cock. It really just enough to keep him from tearing Bogomol open on the first thrust. Ocelot lined up against him. “Bogomolechik… are you ready for this?”

“…”

“If you tell me to stop, I will. We can forget all about this whole nasty incident.”

“…no… I’ll be— in your debt forever,” Bogomol said, turning his head to the side. Ocelot grabbed his jaw, wrenching him back to face him.

“Look at me,” Ocelot said, making deliberate eye contact.

“Oce-“

“You’ve made your choice, Bogomolechik. I’m not going to let you just lie back and think of England here. If you want absolution from any… _favors_ you owe me, then you have to _earn_ it.”

“Okay,” Bogomol said in a small voice, “okay, yes, just— - _aghhh!!_ ”

Bogomol’s half-scream trailed off to a whimpering sob as Ocelot pushed forward. He was _tight_ — he squirmed again, his hands latching onto Ocelot’s shoulders, balling the fabric of his shirt.

“Just sit still and relax, Bogomolechik.”

“Ahahhhh, Ocelot, it- it _burns_ —“

“That’s why you need to _relax_. I’m not even all the way in yet.”

“Ah… agh… nn…”

Ocelot took it slow to begin with, letting Bogomol adjust to him, to this — eventually Bogomol sighed, fingers loosening, his last bit of resistance slipping away. He went slack against the table and his eyelids fluttered a little but he held Ocelot’s gaze as if hypnotized.

Ocelot put his hands around Bogomol’s neck, stroked the vein with a thumb for a moment, and squeezed.

Bogomol choked silently and kicked his legs and clawed at Ocelot’s hands weakly as Ocelot pounded into him, hard enough that he half-slid off the table so that the edge of it was digging into his lower back. Every so often, when Bogomol’s eyes would start to roll back in his head, Ocelot would relent long enough for Bogomol to wheeze and gasp in another lungful before Ocelot closed his airway again. It didn’t take long for tears to start rolling down his face, or much longer after that for his body to give in to a powerful, shuddering orgasm. Ocelot wouldn’t have been surprised if that were his first ever.

“And I’m not done yet,” Ocelot whispered against his lips. Bogomol’s hands tightened around Ocelot’s.

Of course, as much as the kid hated to admit it, Bogomol was a teenage boy fuelled mostly by hormones. He was right at the age when biological imperative to spread his seed was beating him over the head constantly, so Ocelot was able to keep fucking him right through his refractory period and Bogomol’s dick twitched back up before the semen on Ocelot’s shirt had even started to dry.

“Ocelot,” he managed to gasp out during a break for air, “Ocelot, please—“

“Mm?”

“Ohhh…”

Stupid child.

Ocelot let Bogomol pass out after his second orgasm; he was still unconscious when Ocelot pulled out and finished himself off on his bare stomach. Bogomol’s ass was absolutely ravaged already - Ocelot had briefly considered ejaculating on his face but figured that waking up like that would _break_ the poor boy entirely. Ocelot still had enough self-control left to avoid that.

Bogomol came to with a pitiful groan.

“Ah, Bogomolechik, you’re awake?” Ocelot said without glancing over his shoulder. He had removed his shirt (and gloves) and was rinsing the semen off of it in the kitchen sink. Strangely he felt perfectly at home standing in Bogomol’s apartment in his undershirt, but Ocelot did have a noted tendency of not feeling or seeming out of place even when he arguably should.

“Uh… mmhm…”

Ocelot left his shirt to soak, returning to the table and helping Bogomol sit up. Bogomol made a distressed little noise in his throat as he did.

“My…” he said hoarsely, “my neck hurts… my back hurts, my… it hurts. My whole body…”

“It’s just some bruising. You’ll be alright by tomorrow.”

Bogomol put a hand to his neck, his eyes wide. “Will it… show?”

“At least you’re already fond of wearing turtleneck sweaters. Though I suppose it’s not quite the right season for them…”

He looked down. “I…” he paused, then said at length, quietly, “gross.”

“Thought you wouldn’t appreciate it if I finished _inside_ you.”

“…”

 _Somehow_ Ocelot knew Bogomol was going to start crying before his breathed hitched and his shoulders started shaking. “Bogomolechik…”

“Oc— Ocelot… I… I…!” He wiped his face with his hands. “I-I’m filthy! You got your filth all over me. This is- this is disgusting, I can’t believe I- I can’t believe _you_ — I can’t believe I _let_ —-“

Ocelot sighed and picked up the vodka glass, refilling it and handing it to Bogomol. “Here, Bogomolechik,” he said. “You need to calm down.”

Bogomol took the glass, but hesitated on drinking it, looking up at Ocelot guiltily.

“I know you already had a glass,” Ocelot said, purposefully softening his voice.

“…only half of one.”

“Really now? Good, then you can you stay awake while I help you clean yourself up,” Ocelot said as Bogomol knocked back the vodka. “Alright?”

“A…Alright.”

“Come on.” He put his arm around Bogomol’s shoulder, steadying him as he slid off the table. Bogomol collapsed against Ocelot almost immediately, choking out little sobs again.

“You, you said that I would still be able to walk afterwards!” he cried, “we agreed! We agreed you wouldn’t-“

“Bogomolechik, relax,” Ocelot said soothingly, rubbing his back. “You’re just sore.”

“I’m too sore to walk! I-I can’t walk, it hurts!!”

“It’s _temporary_ , Bogomol.”

Dropping the diminutive seemed to get his attention, although he was standing perfectly still now and refusing to follow Ocelot to the bathroom, just staring at his feet instead. The corner of Ocelot’s mouth twitched. What a waste of time… not bothering to warn him first, Ocelot simply scooped up Bogomol in his arms and carried him to the tub. He didn’t struggle at all — Ocelot wondered if he were, in some way, used to being manhandled like this. Perhaps Eli had also carted him around like his bride.

“This would be so much easier if this flat had a shower,” Ocelot muttered, setting Bogomol on the edge of the tub - he shifted his weight uncomfortably, wincing - and turning the water on. The pipes in this khrushchyovka were, of course, a fine example of Soviet engineering, but after letting the water flow for a minute or two the water ran clear and warm enough to stop up the drain and wait for the tub to fill.

“Take off your socks,” Ocelot said, almost absently. Bogomol shakily obliged.

Now that he wasn’t trying to seduce Ocelot anymore, Bogomol went back to being… a bit stubborn about how much he relied on Ocelot. He silently brushed off Ocelot trying to help him into the bath, but his attempts at cleaning himself were uncoordinated at best - so Ocelot just _tsk_ ed something about the vodka and knelt next to the tub, and helped Bogomol wash himself off.

He did have to take responsibility for this, after all. He really hadn’t meant for things to go this far.

The tension between them might have boiled over tonight but the onus of preventing something like _this_ from happening had been on _Ocelot_ , not Bogomol, and yet he’d still… _failed_ the damn kid. And screwed up his plan with him. It wasn’t too late to explain to him that he had no business offering sexual favors as a way to wriggle out of a life’s debt, but after what had just happened, the lesson would ring completely hollow. Even if Bogomol _was_ humiliated by this, Ocelot had obviously and undeniably _benefited_. Even if Bogomol hated what had just happened it had clearly _worked_.

“Was I bad?” Bogomol said as Ocelot wiped his face with a washcloth. By now the haze of drunkenness was probably settling in, he had a slight slur to his voice.

“Not the worst I’ve had, Bogomolechik, in fact rather impressive — this was your first time, wasn’t it?” Ocelot said, his voice gentle.

Bogomol nodded meekly.

“Why do you ask?” Ocelot said.

“You seem… frustrated… about something.”

“…”

Ocelot really should give him more credit for how perceptive he could be, even without his telepathy. Then again, he still probably wouldn’t have been able to get out of that Kuznetsov situation on his own.

Bogomol pressed his legs together as Ocelot dipped the hand with the washcloth under the water. “Wh- what are you…? Not again…”

Ocelot chuckled dryly. “Just cleaning you up, don’t worry. Aren’t you feeling a bit greasy down there?”

“Oh… I suppose…”

He pressed a quick kiss against Bogomol’s lips. He knew full well that it didn’t matter how real or false his affection was because affection couldn’t salvage his mistake, but it was a nice little pantomime nonetheless. “Besides, I’m starting to get up there in years. I’m not as quick to… ah, _recover_ as you are.”

“…nn…”

Bogomol nodded off while Ocelot was shampooing his hair. (God knew he needed it.) Ocelot woke him back up long enough to rinse him off without suffocating him, then lifted him limply out of the bath and found him asleep again when he went to towel him dry. Whatever. Ocelot didn’t bother dressing him, just deposited him in his bed and took a moment to glance over his body, frowning. His neck looked the worst - angry red splotches in the shape of Ocelot’s hands were already purpling into bruises. Looked like Ocelot had bruised his wrists, too, and there was a long line of red across his lower back where the table had cut into him. Some minor scrapes there, too, but they weren’t bleeding anymore and Ocelot hadn’t felt any splinters while he was in the bath.

Ocelot threw a blanket over him and retrieved his shirt from the sink, hanging it up to dry across the top of the radiator. He’d be here for a good while, waiting on that, while Bogomol slept… idly he picked up one of Bogomol’s books from one of his innumerable piles of knick-knacks and settled into the kitchen chair, ignoring the way the room still stank like sex. Kafka, huh. Not bad.

Some part of Ocelot wondered if he shouldn’t stay until Bogomol woke up. The rest of him thought he’d already done enough damage.

The next day. Late afternoon.

Ocelot hadn’t seen Bogomol all day, which he’d been entirely expecting, but upon inquiry he’d found that Bogomol hadn’t shown up at the Lubyanka at all, which he was… not. Concerned - for Bogomol, for the time investment in him, who knew - Ocelot returned to his apartment as soon as his shift was over.

It was empty.

Bogomol was gone. He’d taken his gas mask - predictably - and his identification papers. And a bottle of vodka. Everything else was still here.

Ocelot leaned against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Damn it,” he said out loud. He had no real way of knowing when Bogomol had even _left_ , but it had been roughly eighteen hours since he’d last seen Bogomol, so potentially he could have been on the other side of the world by now. Or at least out of the USSR.

That was assuming he was even still alive.

Why wouldn’t he at least take his toothbrush with him if he were just running away?

Ocelot closed his eyes. “ _Idiot,_ ” he hissed to himself. “You idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and that's it, the last previously uploaded miscellany ficlet!! alll the ficlets from here on out are fresh hot new ones that aireyv wrote/at leasst had ready to publish AFTER the doxxing.. yay! -pp)


	51. Pênc sed û bîst û pênc hezar û şeş sed Deqe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venom picks up a little war orphan in Kurdistan; Mother Base will never be the same.
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 2,682

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing was a request from my Discord server. Like, the whole server. It was unanimous.
> 
> Thank you to Phase7 for double-checking my Kurmanji even if it turned out I was right anyway. _And_ it fits the meter of the song.

199X. A besieged village in northern Iraqi Kurdistan.

After a bit of tangling with the Kurdish interpreter - and more than one unprofessional outburst of laughter from poor Brass Crow having to swear at her boss - Venom eventually found out that this kid who had been throwing rocks at him for almost thirty hours straight was, in fact, fourteen years old. She _certainly_ didn’t look it. Delayed puberty from a combination of malnutrition and too much exercise for a little girl, was Venom’s guess, though it should probably be looked into.

Whenever she stopped trying to kick him, of course. At least she was no longer attempting to stab him — she’d tried _that_ about five minutes ago, and got bodyslammed by Quiet for her troubles. Currently Quiet was searching her for more weapons and had already pulled another knife and a live grenade off of her. The kid was… really not happy.

“Where are your parents?” Venom said, “do you have any?”

“Fuck you!” the girl screeched at him, going to the effort of saying it in English.

“Relax. I’m not one of Saddam’s goons. Do you have parents, any family here?”

“No,” the girl spat at him, switching back to Kurmanji, “I don’t have any family, any friends left! They were all killed in the street like dogs!”

Quiet pulled a curved piece of sharpened pipe from under the girl’s skirts and looked up at Venom, giving him a very plain _Oh boy here we go again_ look. He shrugged at her. Quiet picked the girl up and, when she thrashed around, screaming bloody murder again, handed her off to Venom. She immediately punched him in the face.

Of course, it didn’t do anything. She was a tiny, half-starved girl, already exhausted from following Venom around without sleep since early morning yesterday. Despite her screaming in broken Arabic (according to Brass Crow) to “Put me down!! Down now!!!” she was swung over Venom’s shoulder and stayed there until Pequod arrived at the LZ.

“You know, Boss,” Ocelot said over the radio with a mild amount of sarcasm as Venom forcefully strapped the girl into one of the helicopter seats, “I was fairly certain I left rescuing orphans off of the list of secondary goals for this op.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it,” Venom said. There were a handful of other kids who climbed into the chopper that Venom had picked up for taking potshots at him, though the uncooperative girl was the oldest, or claimed to be the oldest anyway. The others all seemed scared of her.

She kept screaming abuse at Venom in Kurmanji (or Arabic), but Brass Crow had already signed off, so Venom was left only with the English swear words and insults she kept throwing in there to make sure he was paying attention. He wasn’t. And he pretended not to notice Quiet showing her how to sign “fuck” in ASL. (Or at least that was what he assumed she was doing.)

Less than an hour into the flight the girl gradually calmed down and, not long after, fell asleep. “Finally wore herself out, huh?” Pequod commented.

“I guess so,” Venom said.

“So what’s her name?”

Venom shrugged.

“She didn’t give it?” Pequod guessed.

“She didn’t know it.”

“Oh.”

That was the end of that conversation. The flight continued as they usually did, in silence aside from Venom’s (starting to get outdated) music. The other war orphans talked amongst themselves for a while, but eventually they too fell asleep. Venom didn’t blame them, saying the situation in their village had been chaotic was putting it extremely nicely.

It was standard procedure to run any new kids past the medical team before settling them into the children’s quarters and having the education/rehabilitation staff take it from there. The uncooperative girl - who had apparently only accepted Rumble Tarantula’s offered water canteen so that she could spit in his face - had to stay on the medical platform a bit longer. Getting her to sit still long enough for an x-ray had been an ordeal, but x-rays did confirm that she hadn’t been lying about her age: she was roughly fourteen years old. So that meant she had to go through a battery of tests to make sure that her completely childish physique really was just running for her life too much and not getting enough to eat along the way.

That was the initial assessment, though some of the tests results wouldn’t be finished processing for a couple weeks, especially since they were low-priority. In the meantime the physician who saw to her was confident that, with the balanced, healthy diet provided on Mother Base, the girl would be sprouting breasts and pubic hair and hitting her menarche in no time.

In the meantime there was the issue of _names_.

Venom quietly ducked out of that; he wasn’t so good at coming up with them, even codenames he’d delegated to Ocelot (or rather Miller had delegated them to Ocelot while he was still in the coma, and Venom had never bothered to relieve him of that duty). Most war orphans knew their own names like any other child, and the ones that didn’t still typically had some kind of nickname that their friends or comrades called them. No one was totally alone in a war. Even blatant psychopaths had rings of frightened and/or power-seeking followers.

This girl was different, apparently by her own choice. She didn’t want power or anything, she just wanted to be left alone. The kids who knew her just referred to her as “keçik”… “girl”. “The girl.” “That girl.” “Please leave us alone, girl.”

Screaming Uakari, Outer Heaven’s best (and one of their only) child psychiatrist(s), warned Venom straight-up that the new girl had a bullying streak a mile wide and the more she got away with isolating herself from her peers, the meaner she’d get.

“She’s deeply angry at the world for the way the Kurds have suffered,” Screaming Uakari said. “She picks on the other kids because she’s lashing out and views everyone as being against her.”

Venom frowned. The last thing they wanted was another Eli.

“What she needs,” Screaming Uakari continued, “is a way to feel like she’s an actual part of our community… she needs welcoming and acceptance. Even though we’re a private military, we should still be able to show her that the world doesn’t have to be such a hard place all the time.”

“So… we should start by coming up with a name for her.”

“Yes, Boss. It’s so dehumanizing to refer to her as just ‘the girl’.”

Venom tried to talk to her about it but she just signed “fuck” at him and ran off. He really needed to talk to Quiet about that later.

But as luck would have it, following an incident where she got blindsided by DD (who decided he really liked her), the soldiers of Outer Heaven sort of assigned a nickname to her anyway - mostly because she kept biting them… they called her things like “wolf pup” and “little she-wolf”. She’d growl at them when they called her that, which only encouraged it.

“Wolf, huh,” Ocelot said after this had been going on for a few days. “Well, if she decides to start working for us when she hits eighteen like 90% of the rescued children do, then we’ll already have half her codename, won’t we, Boss?”

“I suppose so,” Venom said. Quiet grunted.

So Wolf got a name. And Screaming Uakari was right: that did help her settle into the social scene at Mother Base. She was still markedly anti-social, but at least now even if she preferred to follow the adult personnel around instead of hanging out with anyone her age, she was socializing with _someone_. (Though she rather conspicuously gravitated towards women. Again Venom didn’t blame her - she’d just come from a de facto war zone, friendly men she might have known had all been off trying to defend their community, and all other men would have been enemies.) (Though, rather hilariously, she seemed completely fine with Ocelot.) She was also learning English at an impressive rate.

Wolf took to sitting around Quiet and watching her waste bullets at targets on other platforms. Most of the time she didn’t commentate, and obviously Quiet didn’t say anything, though she did teach her a couple more signs (socially acceptable ones this time, too).

“Why you dress like that?” Wolf said suddenly one day. “You dress so immodest. Mostly every woman here dress so immodest, but you are the worst.”

Quiet threw her an annoyed, slightly perplexed look over shoulder. Wolf pointedly gestured to her own headscarf.

“You look like a qehbe.”

Quiet narrowed her eyes at her, her eyebrows drawing together. _A what?_ , her expression read.

“Qehbe! Don’t know word in English.” She pronounced it like “Inglizh”.

“She’s calling you a whore, Quiet,” Ocelot said from behind them. Wolf jumped. Quiet just looked even more exasperated.

“You dress bad too!” Wolf shouted at Ocelot.

Ocelot rolled his eyes. “I’m not about to take fashion advice from a teenager who tried to stab someone for forcing her to take a shower. _Why_ must we get a poster child for problem children every few years?”

“Fuck you,” Wolf said. “Whore.”

Quiet started laughing silently to herself. Ocelot let out a long sigh, giving Wolf a very unimpressed look.

“She’s all yours, Quiet,” Ocelot said, turning on his heel and stalking off with a jangle of spurs. Quiet flapped a hand irritably after him.

Despite the rocky start to their relationship, it ended up being Quiet that Wolf went to when she finally hit her period. And when the physician Quiet passed her off to explained puberty to her, her first question was if she was going to look like Quiet - asked in a rather excited tone of voice, too. She was clearly starting to feel some degree of closeness towards Quiet.

But it was Ocelot she came to when she decided she wanted to learn how to fight.

“I’ve been told that child soldiers are a bad thing,” Ocelot replied coolly.

“But I want revenge on the world!” Wolf said, “for turning a blind eye to slaughter of my people! I cannot do that if I always am only fix machines and write… dumb things I don’t care!”

“I see… very constructive goal you have there.”

“What, do you have a problem with it?!”

“I’m mostly just wondering if you have an actual plan,” Ocelot said.

“Learn to fight and then fight a lot of people,” Wolf said.

“…”

“A _lot_ of people.”

“Alright,” Ocelot said, “reasonable.”

“So teach me to fight!” Wolf said, “I don’t care if Saladin thinks I am too young!”

“You _should_ care,” Ocelot said. “If you want permission to get combat training before you turn eighteen, you need to get it from him.”

“Why can you… can you not teach me in secret?” Wolf said, pouting. “He does not need to know.”

“As if I have time for that,” Ocelot snorted, “I’ve already got my hands full with other… nevermind. Good luck finding anyone willing to go behind his back.”

She kept pouting, crossing her arms now.

“…” Ocelot rubbed his chin in thought. “I heard all about you tailing the Boss and throwing rocks at him,” he said. “Spending thirty consecutive hours stalking someone… rather impressive for someone your age. The Boss is used to pulling shifts like that, but the fact that you kept up with him the whole time… and apparently your aim with the thrown rocks was quite impressive. Though I do have to ask: You had a live grenade on you. Why didn’t you just throw that? Did you not know how to get the pin out?”

“I was waiting for right moment,” Wolf said, “it would be stupid if I just killed him and it was random and not right moment.”

“…so I see you have a flair for the dramatic as well,” Ocelot said, clapping his hands together. “I think you’d make a very good sniper, Wolf.”

“Sniper?”

“Like Quiet.”

Wolf raised her fists in victory. “Long gun!!”

“Don’t get excited yet, if you want to learn how to shoot you’ll still need the Boss’ permission.”

But when Wolf asked Venom about it all he said was “No. You’re too young,” then walked off.

So she asked Ocelot again. Instead of going directly to Venom, Ocelot had a little chat with Quiet.

“She _would_ make a very good sniper,” Ocelot said.

“Tiny psychopath,” Quiet signed at him. “Also, fourteen years old.”

“I really don’t get the hangup about her age. I learned how to shoot at less than half of that.”

“Look how you turned out.”

Ocelot frowned. “Wasn’t it supposed to be important that she be integrated into the community here? I can’t think of a better way to possibly do that. Besides, unlike _some_ other ‘tiny psychopaths’, we’ve never caught her mutilating seagulls.”

Quiet considered it, then shook her head. “V will never allow it,” she signed.

“He’ll fold if we both recommend it. Besides, I’m not saying she should be sent out in the field. Just give her a little early training - you can show her her way around a rifle, she can do target practice, and when she turns eighteen V can put her in a combat team with no fuss at all. Ignore her request for training and she’s liable to run off the second we let her set foot on dry land.”

Quiet pursed her lips, unhappy. The bond between a girl and the woman she came crying to about her first period was a special one, and Quiet didn’t like the idea of said girl vanishing at the first opportunity.

“So are you on board?” Ocelot said, raising his eyebrows.

Quiet shrugged, and when Ocelot kept staring at her, nodded.

“That’s settled, then,” he said, wandering off.

Ocelot was (predictably) completely right about Venom placidly giving his consent to Wolf’s underage sniper training with both Ocelot and Quiet pushing for it. Though he did make the “Target practice only for now” stipulation before either one of them could actually mention it.

So, in the end, Wolf sat down with Quiet again at the pseudo-balcony with a good view of the shooting range a whole platform over. She gave her a quick, nonverbal rundown of her sniper rifle, then handed it to Wolf and showed her how to set up.

Wolf’s first shot was _maybe_ an inch off from the very center of the target’s forehead.

Quiet blinked and put down the binoculars. “Luck,” she signed, then motioned for Wolf to do it again.

Just offset from the previous bullet hole. “I think,” Wolf said, “I am aiming too high. And the recoil is hurting my shoulder.”

Quiet helped her readjust her gun and herself. Her next few shots had a slight but noticeable improvement accuracy-wise, though her precision was average at best. But it was her first lesson, her breathing was still uncontrolled and her hands still shook. At least she had the sense not to flinch in anticipation of the recoil, nor jerk the trigger.

“I love this kid,” Quiet signed to Venom when he came meandering by a few hours later.

“Going well?” Venom said.

“I started shooting the target in the neck and its head blew away in the wind,” Wolf said, looking up from the scope at Venom.

“Hm.”

“She’s my daughter now,” Quiet signed with a completely straight face. “If anything happened to her I’d kill everyone on this base and then myself.”

“…”

“Can you have someone set up a new target for her?”

“Haven’t you been practicing long enough?” Venom said, “it’s already evening.”

Quiet stood up, nodding at Wolf. Wolf also stood. Quiet’s rifle was about as long as she was tall. Quiet patted her on the top of the head, smiling.

Venom got the vague impression that he had no idea what he’d just signed off on.


	52. Bleeding Always Stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid needs help.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - implicit references to Rape/Non-Con and Underage, No Archive Warnings Apply otherwise  
> W/C 5,492

1994, Mother Base.

Patrols around the platform always came across to Liquid as more performative than anything else - sure he knew there had been a handful of times that Mother Base itself had been attacked (and was technically responsible for one of them), but actual Base security was the domain of (shockingly) the security team. Combat units being assigned to patrol seemed to only happen in order to give the soldiers something to do around Base while between assignments. Keep them out of trouble and all.

Which granted was a very good idea for Liquid specifically. Still, he wasn’t _opposed_ to the opportunity to basically just wander around with a gun and gab with his comrades. Even if the topic of conversation was usually boring. (Not that Liquid wasn’t into women or anything, but _god_ if he had to hear Razor Turkey and Punching Crab commiserate about that chick in the base development unit’s rack _one more time_ …)

Violet Rabbit was fairly down-to-earth, though. Liquid was trailing a bit behind him and Brittle Mockingbird as they talked about their respective pasts.

“I was just one of the rescued child soldiers who decided to sign on when I turned eighteen,” Brittle Mockingbird said with a shrug. “I think I’ve mentioned that my mom died in the civil war, right?”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned it.”

“My dad, my older brother, and I all went off to fight in it the very next day. I was fifteen. My dad and brother, uh, didn’t make it.”

“So Big Boss just picked you and up and brought you back here, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, we weren’t enemies - Outer Heaven had a contract with the FPR, that’s why the Boss was there in the first place. I just kind of got shuffled in with him as he was leaving. The other guys in my group thought I was too young for the battlefield, but knew I didn’t have a home to return to anymore.”

“They weren’t wrong…”

“Hey, Liquid,” Brittle Mockingbird said, glancing over his shoulder at him, “weren’t you a child soldier, too?”

“Hm?” Liquid hadn’t been paying much attention to their conversation. “Oh, right. Yes, I was. Got started when I was seven.”

“Man… that’s a lot worse than fifteen. That must have been rough.”

“Oh, I don’t mind it. I had the time of my life, to be honest,” Liquid said cheerfully.

Violet Rabbit and Brittle Mockingbird exchanged glances, but neither commented. At this point all of Outer Heaven knew about Liquid’s complete and utter lack of pity or remorse for people he slaughtered; it wasn’t exactly _normal_ , but was also not a problem so long as it could be directed into the proper avenues, which was so far so good.

“How did you end up like that, anyway?” Violet Rabbit said skeptically. “You were in Angola, right? How did you…? I mean, you’re British.”

“My ha-“ he cut himself off. _Handlers_ was too weird a term, he was pretty sure. “— _foster parents_ took me on a vacation to Egypt to keep up appearances and didn’t bother looking for me when I got lost at the docks.”

“Oh… okay…?”

“ _I_ didn’t like them _either_.” Before Big Boss was calling him an inferior, worthless freak of nature, his Cipher-assigned handlers were. In retrospect it was pretty fucked up and somebody probably should have intervened. Apparently EVA had cried when she found out about it. “At any rate, I snuck onto a boat - don’t really remember why at this point, maybe I was just trying to get back to England, or else as far away from it as possible — I ended up in Mauritania. Slavery was still legal there at that point, if I remember correctly.”

“It still is, technically,” Violet Rabbit said, “they abolished it over ten years ago but have yet to actually set up any laws against it. Slaveowners can’t be prosecuted.”

“So, did you get picked up slavers or something?” Brittle Mockingbird said.

“Human traffickers,” Liquid said, frowning, “though I don’t think there’s much difference, just that traffickers operate internationally while regular slavers might not. I know I was _sold_ to someone in Angola, but—“

“But what?”

“Well… the _original_ sell… didn’t end up going through because I killed the trafficker with a machete.”

“And you were _seven?_ ” Violet Rabbit said. “That’s… that explains a lot.”

“Her colleague caught me, of course, I _was_ seven. But while she had been planning to send me to Afghanistan, the new one decided I was better suited for war, and it just so happened that he was already selling kids to Angolans to fight in their civil war. So I ended up there.”

“What would you have done in Afghanistan?” Brittle Mockingbird said. “If you were even told, I mean…”

“Do you know what bacha bazi is?”

Brittle Mockingbird shook his head while Violet Rabbit pulled a face. “Oh, god. Someone was trying to buy you to be a _bacchá?_ ”

“Yes. I had no idea what the hell it was until ten or so years later, though, so it really doesn’t matter. I just knew at the time that I didn’t like the sound of it. Dancing and all that…”

“Uh… right,” Brittle Mockingbird said. “I think we all already know the rest of the story, though.”

“Yeah,” said Violet Rabbit, “Big Boss had to go get _you_ _specifically_ because you’d broken loose from your commanders and were going around terrorizing villages.”

“You make me sound so uncouth,” Liquid sniffed.

“…and then after a couple months on Mother Base, you hijacked a WMD and ran off… and basically weren’t heard from again until Big Boss rescued you from a prison camp in Iraq.”

“Mm.” Time to change the subject. “So how did _you_ get here, Rabbit?”

“Actually,” Violet Rabbit said, “I was a POW, too.”

“El Salvador, right?” Brittle Mockingbird said.

“Yeah. Though I’m not from there originally, I was just an independent merc at the time… less work for more pay, by yourself, but _here_ you have medical care and you don’t have to worry about where you’re going to sleep or shower or how you’re going to get food, and you don’t have to negotiate your own contracts, which is a _huge_ plus in my book…”

“…plus we’re never ordered to kill kids or civilians, or get involved with ethnic cleansers,” Brittle Mockingbird said agreeably.

“Yeah, ‘cuz the higher-ups here can afford to be picky about job offers. Anyway, I was hired by FMLN in ’89, as extra manpower for the Ofensiva hasta el tope. It was just a job to me, honestly - I don’t buy into Marxism or anything like that, but I was in the area and they paid decently, ironically enough. Unfortunately I got taken prisoner by government forces and… well, I don’t know if they ever _claimed_ they followed the Geneva Conventions, but they _really_ didn’t and conditions in that prison were pretty hellish.”

“Aren’t even normal prisons bad in that part of the world?”

Violet Rabbit shrugged, waving a hand. “Normal prisoners have the option of bribing their wardens. Us POWs would have killed for that. I would have done anything for some decent grub, but I had to keep my head down… I lost track of how many times I had to watch one of the guerrillas get beaten as an example to everyone else, and this was only over the course of about two weeks. Plus there were rumors about even _worse_ things going on behind closed doors…”

“Sounds pretty awful, alright,” Brittle Mockingbird said. “The group I was with in the civil war were always careful with any prisoners we got, since if we were cruel to them then we wouldn’t be any better than the Hutus.”

“Wish more people thought like that… you know what I’m saying, Liquid?”

“Eh?” Liquid started at being addressed. He’d checked out of the conversation entirely when Violet Rabbit had mentioned being a POW.

“What it’s like being a prisoner of war. You just don’t come back the same. Back me up here, Mockingbird doesn’t know what it’s like.”

Liquid frowned. “…”

“Uh.” Violet Rabbit frowned, too. “Sore subject, I guess. Sorry!”

“You got kind of pale all of a sudden, Liquid,” Brittle Mockingbird said, “are you alright?”

“Ah. Yes. Of course I am,” Liquid said stiffly, “I just… it’s that flu that’s going around, I’m sure. Bit hot out, too. Carry on.”

Neither of them commented on Liquid’s disjointed speech, instead returning to their conversation with Violet Rabbit pressing past the prison bit entirely. “Anyway, Big Boss wasn’t actually _there_ at the time, it was one of the combat units… can’t remember which one. Maybe it was more than one. But it was the final push of the Ofensiva and they needed juuust a bit more to get the peace negotiations rolling. Guerrillas were pushing into real affluent areas while Outer Heaven soldiers were mopping up behind them, including taking out prison installations like the one I was stuck in.”

“And you decided to join up since they freed you?” Brittle Mockingbird said.

“Yup. Though I was in their camp before I knew it anyway, I was dehydrated and kind of out of it. But seriously, I was so over working by myself and when I actually got to Mother Base and met Big Boss in person, I just about wet myself. Of _course_ I joined up.”

“…Liquid, are you sure you’re okay? You seem ill.”

“I’m fine,” Liquid snapped, then took a deep breath, recomposing himself. It wouldn’t do to completely fucking lose it in the middle of a shift; if he could just _get a grip_ then they’d probably buy the flu excuse. “I… I don’t feel so well suddenly, that’s all.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Violet Rabbit said.

“I’m fine! I just- I— I need a little break, that is _all_.” His body felt weak; he handed his rifle off to Brittle Mockingbird, who happened to be standing closer. “I’m going to go stand over by the railing for a while. Don’t bother me.”

“Uh… okay?”

He slunk away quickly, his head swimming. He could already feel himself dissociating and slipping back into the past but hoped that staring at the ocean would help ground him - the endless, constantly shifting water and wide open sky was a far cry from four dirty walls in an abandoned hovel in the desert. Behind him he could hear Violet Rabbit and Brittle Mockingbird talking in low voices.

“I don’t think he’s doing so hot.”

“He looks like he’s about to have a freak-out.”

“Yeah, he does. Damn, that’ll be the second guy in our barracks this week!”

“Maybe it’s that flu going ahead. I heard that the stress of being sick can make it easier to get set off by something.”

“Ugh. This is probably my fault.”

“Well, if he just stands there quietly the whole time, then it’s not that bad, right…?”

“Look, just… hey, Liquid?”

“Yes?” Liquid said, gritting his teeth, his hands tightening on the railing. They way they talked about him - with _pity_ \- was making his blood boil but he was trying to keep it down in the interests of not flying off the handle.

“Mockingbird’s going to go get Buffalo for you. Since, uh… you shouldn’t be out on patrol if you’re sick, and all.”

“Fine,” Liquid hissed as Brittle Mockingbird quickly trotted off. Violet Rabbit probably _did_ have the right idea here, to be fair.

By the time Flaming Buffalo got there, Liquid was slouched over, resting his elbows on the railing and holding his head in his hands, breathing raggedly. She sighed to herself. A non-negligible amount of Outer Heaven personnel had PTSD, with most of them being on the combat team; generally they were medicated, but since Liquid was still new Flaming Buffalo wouldn’t be surprised if the medical team hadn’t yet figured out what kind/how much would take for him, or if he’d ducked out of pills for it entirely. She’d heard that Liquid did occasionally freak out like this, but this was the first time she’d seen it herself since it was the first time it had happened while he was on duty — but it _wasn’t_ her first time seeing someone lose it like this.

“Mockingbird, go get someone,” Flaming Buffalo said. “Someone from the med team, Commander Ocelot, the Boss, Quiet, that kid from the intel unit - whoever you find first. Someone who knows his disorder.”

“Yes ma’am,” Brittle Mockingbird said, saluting quickly before running off again.

“How long…?” Flaming Buffalo asked Violet Rabbit.

“Couple minutes now,” Violet Rabbit said, grimacing. “This is my fault, I think. I should have known that bringing up his time as POW would make him, um, upset… even if it was just in passing… but hey, all he’s been doing is just standing there. Maybe we should leave him alone?”

“You know he can get violent when he’s agitated.”

“Ugh… yeah. So what’s the plan?”

Flaming Buffalo took a step in Liquid’s direction, raising her hands nonthreateningly when he jerked his head up to look at her over his shoulder. “For now I just want to get him to someplace quiet where he can calm down in peace. Liquid? Your shift’s over for today, so just come with me.”

Liquid turned around to face her, but his body language was nothing but wary, frightened even, and he refused to step forward - when Flaming Buffalo did, he jerked back, his already-wide eyes widening a little more.

“Still with us, Liquid? Come on.”

His expression was drawn and haunted but mostly blank. He didn’t seem to recognize her — which made this a full-blown flashback instead of a random panic attack. Panic attacks were a lot easier to deal with. Especially for someone as violent as Liquid. Though right now he looked more like he was trying to work out an escape route than a plan of attack; Flaming Buffalo really didn’t know what the felt he needed to escape _from_. None of her business, honestly.

“I think he’s going to make a break for it,” she said out of the corner of her mouth to Violet Rabbit. “Let’s try to keep him in this area, but _don’t_ let him get at your weapons. He’s dangerous enough unarmed.”

“Got it,” Violet Rabbit said, circling in the direction Liquid’s eyes kept flicking to.

“Everything’s alright, Liquid,” Flaming Buffalo said, trying to approach him again, “you just need the rest of the day off. Whatever you think is going on-“

Liquid bolted.

He was notoriously quick on his feet but was also, in his panic, predictable. Flaming Buffalo sidestepped to cut off his escape (wherever the hell he even thought he was going), and Liquid rerouted himself, almost stumbling. Trying to get away from Flaming Buffalo specifically now lead to him backing straight into Violet Rabbit, who grabbed his upper arms reflexively in an attempt to get him to stay put.

Except it just freaked Liquid out even more. Flaming Buffalo shouted “No!” before Violet Rabbit realized what was about to, predictably, happen: Liquid spun around, tearing himself out of Violet Rabbit’s grasp, and threw Violet Rabbit to the ground - with an ugly tearing pop as Violet Rabbit’s arm twisted unnaturally in Liquid’s grip.

“AAAAGH!!”

Liquid jumped away, trying to flee again. He was hyperventilating badly and would probably faint soon, before he could do any more damage, but still Flaming Buffalo had taken a few strides towards him and had stepped over Violet Rabbit when Venom shouted “DD!” and Liquid was blindsided by a wolf.

Being knocked to the deck by a mountain of fur and muscle seemed to snap Liquid out of it, at least partially. He blinked rapidly, terror giving way to confusion, as he tried to push DD off of him. DD stubbornly kept him pinned and Liquid didn’t really appear to notice Venom approaching and crouching by him until he glanced up, pupils blown, and Venom was already looking down at him.

He flinched and said something in Arabic. Venom didn’t know Arabic but Liquid’s tone of voice was that of a frightened little boy trying to apologize.

“You’re okay, Eli,” Venom said. Flaming Buffalo helped Violet Rabbit to his feet in the background; he was still clutching his arm and grimacing in pain. “Everything’s okay. You’re at Mother Base. Just take a deep breath.”

Liquid started to tremble, sadly repeating himself in Arabic over and over while Venom tried to calm him and DD kept him in one place no matter how he tried to squirm out from under him. “I think it’s just dislocated,” Flaming Buffalo said to Violet Rabbit.

Spurs clinked as Ocelot approached. Whatever progress Venom had made with Liquid was immediately undone - he actually screamed now, trashing around and trying to get back to his feet. Venom held him down. “Eli, it’s just Ocelot, you’re okay. He won’t hurt you—”

“لا,لا,لا,لا,لا,لاخلاص لا تلمسني!” 

Ocelot wordlessly took out a syringe and, when Venom had managed to wrestle an arm out to where it was accessible, injected Liquid with it. Liquid’s struggle to escape died down into struggling simply to keep his eyes open as the sedative began to take hold.

“There,” Venom said, easing up on him. He brushed a few sweat-slicked strands of hair away from his pale face. “It’s alright. Don’t fight it, Eli, you’ll feel better when you wake up. I promise.”

Once Liquid’s gasping slowed and he succumbed to sleep, Venom stood and asked to see Violet Rabbit’s arm, which he confirmed was just dislocated and fixed it without much warning. Violet Rabbit made a very undignified squeal but felt much better afterwards.

Flaming Buffalo sighed and put her hands on her hips. “He’s the second one to have a complete meltdown like that in, what, five days?”

“They might have both caught that flu going around,” Venom said, “physical illness can exacerbate mental illness.”

“See, that’s what I was thinking,” Brittle Mockingbird said.

“We’re just lucky that he didn’t do any more damage.”

“He handed Mockingbird his gun right before it happened,” Violet Rabbit said, rubbing his arm. “Maybe he saw it coming.”

“That wouldn’t be unusual,” Ocelot said, putting a cap on the spent syringe. “Flashbacks usually _seem_ sudden, but they’re typically preceded by identifiable symptoms.”

“We should probably get him to go sleep that off on the medical platform, huh,” Flaming Buffalo said, watching DD lick Liquid’s face.

Venom nodded. “Rabbit, you should come too. Get your arm checked out just in case.”

“Yes, Boss.”

…

Liquid’s first thought upon waking up was _Oh, no. Not the medical platform again, I hate this place._ His second thought was _oh, oh no no no oh god i can’t move why can’t i move oh GOD why am i strapped down_

“Eli?”

Liquid’s eyes fixed on Venom. “Father,” he said shakily, then cleared his throat, “Father, why am I restrained. Can you- can you please let me go, I don’t like this—“

“You’re strapped to the bed because right now you’re a danger to yourself and everyone else.”

“No I’m not. Please let me go. I’m not going to hurt anyone, I’m not going to-“

“You already dislocated someone’s arm,” Venom said, then added, “and kicked DD in the stomach.”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please just unstrap me, I don’t like this, Father-“

“Eli, calm down.”

“No, I want out! I-“ Liquid strained against the straps pinning him to the bed. He was still feeling kind of fuzzy from- from— he didn’t remember, really, it was like the whole room was spinning and being restrained wasn’t helping any. He could feel himself teetering on the verge of panic, _again_. “Please, please let me out, I won’t hurt anyone, I won’t hurt myself, I just don’t want to be strapped down, please Father please I can’t stand this—“

“I can’t unstrap you until you’re calm, Eli.”

“I am calm!! I am!!! I— you— this, this is Outer Heaven, Mother Base, we’re in the Indian Ocean near Seychelles, it’s- it’s December nineteenth, 1994, a Monday, I-I’ve been here for a little over three months now a-and I’ve been on the combat team A- through S-rank unit two for about two months now and a month and a half ago y-you called me your _son_ —“

“Eli, enough,” Venom said, “enough. I get it. You know where you are and what’s going on.”

“So unstrap me!! I-I don’t like being restrained!”

“You need to calm down first.”

Liquid fell silent, frustrated. ‘Calm down’ was a completely useless order; how could he possibly calm down when his mind was racing and his heart was hammering even though he was just lying here, restrained? …he was glad he was in an isolation room. It was just him and Venom. He was sure he’d be feeling worse if there were anyone else.

“Just breathe, Eli.”

It was an interminable few minutes before Venom deemed Liquid stable enough to unlatch the straps keeping him held down. Immediately Liquid sat up, but managed to repress his urge to jump out of the bed. (Though, considering he still felt kind of foggy and unbalanced, if he did that he would have been liable to fall over anyway.) Sourly he rubbed at a sore spot on his arm, slowly realizing that it was an injection site and he must have been sedated. Probably Ocelot. That would explain why he had been part of the flashback, Liquid was… pretty sure, anyway.

“Do you remember what set you off?” Venom said.

“…it was Rabbit, I think,” Liquid muttered. “He was telling Mockingbird about when he was a POW, and asked for my input. He didn’t… think. That it would be bad for me.”

“Hm.”

“It’s not like I want everyone walking on eggshells around me, anyway. I— I _tried_ to keep it together, Father, I really did.”

“I know, Eli. Is that why you handed off your gun?”

“…”

Venom sat back in his chair, sighing through his nose. “It’s good if you can take steps to prevent yourself from hurting yourself or anyone else during a flashback. It’d be better if you could get them under control entirely, though.”

“I… I try.”

“…you’re being suspended from the combat team—”

“What!” Liquid said, head snapping up to snarl at Venom. “How _could_ you?!”

“ _Temporarily_ , Eli. Let me finish my sentences.” Venom crossed his arms. “You remember talking to a counselor before getting clearance from the medical team to be in the combat unit, don’t you? All you need to do is get cleared again.”

“Fine,” Liquid snorted.

“Which will probably mean agreeing to actually take medication for this. Since you aren’t already.”

“…” Liquid glanced off to the side, going still. “I thought there was supposed to be some sort of confidentiality about that.”

“There is, but anything you tell Ocelot isn’t covered by it.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause. Liquid hated taking medication. Always had, really, but even moreso now that taking pills had been branded with an unpleasant association with rounds and rounds of antibiotics immediately after Iraq. Besides, being a clone had made him some kind of freak mutant, so it was probably going to take forever for the medical team to find a dosage that actually affected him… and anyway, most kinds of medications on Mother Base had to be fetched directly from the medical platform every day. It was supposed to prevent drug abuse but it was incredibly inconvenient. (And everyone except Venom knew you could get the good shit from Eagle Ray anyway. Not that Liquid was into that. Wolf was.)

“There aren’t any jobs lined up for your unit right this moment,” Venom said, “so you should have a few weeks to get this sorted out before the next assignment. It’ll be like you never left at all.”

“…”

Venom stood. “I know you’re not happy, Eli, but it’s for your own safety. You can’t go to war if you have a time bomb in your head.”

_Speak for yourself_ , Liquid thought sourly, glaring at the wall and refusing to answer.

Later.

“Mantis. My, you’re late.”

Mantis sighed, leaning against the wall a few feet away from where Liquid was brooding, an isolated nook tucked away on the command platform. “I only just heard about what happened. I… did feel your distress earlier, but I had assumed you were with Ocelot, so…”

Liquid grumbled. “So now you’ve come to lecture me about medication, too.”

“I do not need to, you’ve already gotten enough of that from your father, the counselor, half the medical team, Buffalo…”

“I get it, Mantis.”

“Rather I’m here because…” he made an audible sneer, a soft hiss. “Ocelot sent me.”

“Oh?”

“It could be a while before you get clearance from the counselor again, and Ocelot’s requested that you be temporarily transferred to the intel team just to give you something to do while they, presumably, figure out what kind of medicine you need.” Mantis broke eye contact. “It is really just that the only person on the team who speaks Malay has caught that flu that’s going around, and there are some documents that need translating.”

“Ah. I see.”

Mantis shifted his weight uncomfortably. He knew Liquid was picking up on his self-conscious distress at not being there for Liquid when he had a breakdown, but… well, Liquid’s bad mood was understandable, at any rate… “You could even borrow my desk, if you like.”

“Oh, so you have your own desk? Fancy.”

Mantis tried taking his sarcastic remark at face value. “I don’t like reporting directly to Ocelot, but it does mean I am rather high up in the intel team’s chain of command by default. It does come with perks.”

“Hmph.”

“…” He approached, somewhat hesitantly putting his hand on the top of Liquid’s head - easiest to reach when he was standing and Liquid was sitting with his chin on his knees, like a pouting child. “Eli…”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.” He knelt down next to him, still touching his hair. “You still feel bad. Eli, talk to me. I want to help.”

“Talking isn’t going to help. I’m tired of talking.”

“Really? That’s funny. You still refuse to actually discuss what happened in the camp with the counselor.”

Liquid was silent, grit his teeth.

“…it is not _bad_ that you panicked, you know,” Mantis said. “You couldn’t help it.”

“Like that makes it any better.”

“I suppose not. But you had the foresight to hand off your weapon before you lost track of where you were - or, at least, it just so happens that you can pretend you did. And you did partially come back to your senses when DD jumped on you, didn’t you?”

At length, Liquid nodded. “There weren’t any dogs at the camp,” he mumbled, “it threw me off. I got confused… but I don’t really remember it very well, I just felt sick one moment and the next I’m strapped into a bed in an isolation room and Father’s telling me I’ve been pulled from the combat team.”

“Temporarily, Eli.”

“I _know_. God, shut up. I don’t want to take any more bloody pills! Why is that my only option?!” He huffed, dropping his face so that his forehead now pressed against his knees instead. “The counselor, Sapphire Cougar, she… gave me an ultimatum. Go on medication or be transferred to a different team entirely.”

“Then your choice seems obvious, doesn’t it?” Mantis said, rubbing Liquid’s back.

“…I know. I know. I’ll go crazy if I’m not on the combat unit. …maybe I can just hide the pills in my cheek and spit them out when no one’s looking.”

“Eli,” Mantis said warningly.

“Fine!” Liquid burst out, jumping up suddenly, abrupt enough that Mantis was knocked to the side and landed flat on his butt. “Fine, I’ll take the bloody medicine! I don’t even think it’s going to _help_ any, anyway, so I’ll just- I’ll— …Mantis… I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m alright, I am not hurt,” Mantis said, standing up and rubbing where he landed, wincing. He was definitely going to be bruised later, but no one had to know. “You realize it may take them a while to work out a dosage, no?”

“Then I’d better tell Cougar about it sooner rather than later. I suppose in the meantime…” his face fell for a split second. Mantis didn’t even know why Liquid was trying to disguise his stress and frustration with bravado and determination in front of _him_. “I’ll take you up on your offer to use your desk. In fact I’ll go tell Ocelot that in person as soon as I’m done talking with Cougar.” He flounced off.

“Ocelot does not need to be involved in this!” Mantis called out after him, incensed. But he was gone.

Great. Sex with that freak was the last thing Liquid needed with how jittery he still was.

A couple days later.

“I told you not to go to Ocelot,” Mantis muttered in his ear. Liquid jolted awake.

“Ergh… was I… asleep?” Liquid said, rubbing his eyes. “Great… sleeping at your desk, how classy of me…”

Mantis straightened himself. “You should have tried to get a full night’s rest last night.”

“Not this again… I felt fine this morning, anyway. Wait, what time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“I felt fine when I left Ocelot’s quarters,” Liquid said stubbornly. “I don’t know why I got so tired all of a… ooh, it’s probably the medicine.”

“Hm?”

“Side effects, you know. They put me on some sort of anti-anxiety drug and warned me that drowsiness was one of the-“ he interrupted himself with a yawn, rubbing his eyes again. “Remind me to bring this up to them. It’s no good if I nod off randomly because of the pills…”

“…right. How are the translations going?”

Liquid stared down at the papers on Mantis’ desk. “Strictly speaking they’re going well but oh my _god_ this is _boring_. How do you stand this, Mantis?”

Mantis shrugged. “I don’t actually have much to do with any of the files, just my own paperwork. Usually I am… _assisting_ in Room 101, though that is its own special kind of hell.”

“Hm.”

“Speaking of which,” Ocelot said right behind him. Mantis jumped. Liquid snorted. It was actually sort of amazing how silently Ocelot could move considering he wore _fucking spurs_.

In the end Liquid fell asleep at Mantis’ desk three more times before finally making it to the medical platform to complain about his drowsiness. Over the next two weeks the medical team adjusted Liquid’s dosage four or five times until they struck a good balance between Liquid being able to stay calm even in uncomfortable situations and being turned into a pseudo-narcoleptic or perpetually exhausted zombie. (Liquid commented to Ocelot at one point that he was pretty sure his sex drive was shrivelling up, but Ocelot told him that that was a good thing, which offended Liquid deeply. He still got dicked down though.) (At any rate, he didn’t want to sleep on the medical platform and felt awkward in his combat team barracks, so the entire time he slept in Ocelot’s quarters anyway.)

As soon as he got cleared by Sapphire Cougar to rejoin the combat unit, Liquid started skipping doses, receiving the pills from the med team and squirrelling them away instead of taking them. Only Mantis knew about it, and he was hesitant to report him or call him out on it publicly, so aside from some short-lived butting of heads over it, Liquid got away with it completely.

“Oh, by the way,” Wolf said to Liquid as A- through S-rank unit two was gearing up to leave on their first assignment since the incident, “Buffalo said that I am babysitting you on this op.”

“…please don’t tell me those were her exact words…”

“Well, no. But she did tell me to specifically keep an eye on you, in case you had another freak-out while we were deployed.”

Liquid scrubbed a hand over his face. “Great. Just what I need. Being treated like I’m made of _glass_.”

“I think it had more to do with the fact that you have been prescribed diazepam, which I use to steady my hands,” Wolf said thoughtfully, “so if you ever needs some extra pills I always have an available stash.”

“…I don’t think that’s the intended use, Wolf.”

“Technically it is not but Eagle Ray does not care. Anyway, Buffalo told me to share if you started getting all weird and nervous.”

“Lovely,” Liquid said flatly.

“Aww, don’t be sour, Liquid. We are just trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need-!”

“Come on,” Wolf said brightly, patting him on the shoulder. “Everything works out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabic = no no no no no no stop don’t touch me!, PROBABLY (thanks Phase7 for advice)
> 
> Aight, so... as of now, that's the last Miscellany ficlet I have ready for PP to upload. Not say I don't have more, but they're dependant on currently-un(re)posted chapters of FeetGround and, in at least one case, future fics in White Diamond. (Yes, there is going to be at least one more fic in White Diamond. No, this is not referring to me splitting up FeetGround. I have no intention of doing that unless/until I literally hit AO3's chapter limit.)


	53. Can of Worms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Liquid _got_ help. (Sort of.)
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 2,365

1994, Mother Base.

Sapphire Cougar, widely considered Outer Heaven’s best counselor and expert on PTSD, was statistically speaking the least intimidating person possible at first blush: she was a tiny Cambodian woman, plumpish in a sort of motherly way, wore glasses, and had a soft, high-pitched voice with a strong (but not obfuscating) accent.

Of course, Liquid was already familiar with the way _another_ bespectacled Cambodian woman eighteen inches shorter than him could probably kick his ass, namely Shadow Agama, the medic who seemed to have been instructed to keep an eye on him specifically. At least Sapphire Cougar was significantly older than Shadow Agama, so she probably had much brittler bones and okay Liquid almost definitely shouldn’t be thinking along those lines. He wasn’t here to get into a fight, he was here because, well, frankly _everyone_ had been pushing for him to see her since day one on Mother Base, but now that he’d informed Venom he wanted to enlist as soon as he was physically able, he’d been outright instructed to get clearance to join the combat unit from Sapphire Cougar. Without it, he wouldn’t be allowed to and he’d either be assigned somewhere else or have to leave Outer Heaven entirely and figure out what to do from there by himself.

So, in order to get what he wanted, Liquid had to play nice and tell her what she wanted to hear and all that, and trick her into thinking that he was completely functional and more than capable of dealing with all his traumas by himself. And Ocelot. Ocelot’s dick specifically.

Sapphire Cougar had a file from when Liquid was twelve.

“ _Why_ does that even exist,” Liquid asked flatly.

“Well, this was before my time,” Sapphire Cougar said, idly flipping through it. She and he were sitting in a private room on the medical platform; Liquid got the comfier chair, and was keenly aware that he’d totally been here before ten years ago. “It seems you were quite the frequent flier, Snake.”

“Don’t.”

“Right. Liquid.” She said it like _Lee-keed_. “Any child that comes here will inevitably have a psychiatric file on them, but yours is… quite extensive! I don’t think there have _been_ any other children who were as resistant to rehabilitation as you were, though some apparently did give you a run for your money…” she turned the page, “so, what is this about catching birds and rats and mutilating them?”

Liquid crossed his arms, slumped back in the chair, and rolled his eyes. “That was years ago.”

“Such behavior in childhood nearly always means problems in adulthood, you know.”

“It’s not like I _still_ do that. Besides, it was just seagulls and rats and mice, who cares? They were vermin animals, it’s not like they served any function on Base. I was practically doing everyone a favor.”

“Is that how you see it?”

“Look, I could understand why everyone got their knickers in a twist over it every time if I’d been doing it to one of the cats, or DD, or something— you know, the useful animals around here. I’d never do that. Even the animals on the Conservation Platform I didn’t try to catch, it was _just_ the pests.” He shrugged. “Besides, they were usually dead by the time I actually started cutting them up.”

“Usually? Not always?”

“My traps normally got to them first, so…”

Liquid’s sense of discomfort and unease only grew as Sapphire Cougar started to jot things down. He sank down further in his chair, frowning. Trying to convince her he _wasn’t_ some kind of a sociopath was going to end up just being too much of a long shot, wouldn’t it?

“So you specifically sought out vermin animals,” Sapphire Cougar said, “can you tell me why? Did it matter to you that you were doing Base ‘a favor’ by doing pest control?”

Liquid blinked. He was honestly expecting her to criticize him, not calmly ask his rationale. “Er, no,” he said, “not really. I didn’t care, if the whole base got overrun with mice then it wouldn’t have mattered to me at all… I’m used to dealing with pests, you know… ah…” Where was he even going with this? “I think it was more like I figured no one would bother me about it if I left the useful animals alone.” There. Good at following orders, and all that. Not like it wasn’t true, anyway.

“Did you have a particular reason for doing this?”

“Just thought it was fun.”

Oh dammit she was writing again. Liquid grit his teeth. Here he was, capable of enduring years of torture without once even hinting at any SAS or SIS secrets, and at the same time wasn’t able to keeping his stupid mouth shut about things that made him look bad.

“But you know,” he added, speaking quickly, “all that was ten years ago, I’ve— well, I don’t really remember it all that well, a lot has happened, and everything…”

Sapphire Cougar nodded. “Yes,” she said, looking at him over her glasses, “that is what we are actually here for. Now, I want you to understand that you’re free to decline to speak about any topic if you aren’t comfortable with discussing it, but I’d also like you to know that you shouldn’t feel the need to keep secrets from me. This office is a judgement-free zone, Liquid.”

“Hn.”

“Also I’m allowed to read your medical records, and I’ve already gone over them.” She pushed her glasses back up her nose, touching the frames at the hinge of one bridge. “To speak frankly, that means I already know what happened to you at that prison camp.”

“…”

“I also see some reports about your behavior ever since you came here. Flashbacks, night terrors, frequent dissociation, visible anxiety and avoidant behaviors, insomnia, hyperarousal — no, not _that_ kind of arousal,” she added with a stern look, “that refers to being jittery and constantly agitated, having trouble concentrating, and overreacting to being startled.”

“What’s your point?” Liquid said sourly.

“Just from your medical reports _alone_ I see more than enough classic PTSD symptoms to diagnose you with it. I imagine that if we talk more, we’ll come up with more.”

“What’s. your. _point_.”

“My point is that post-traumatic stress disorder is treatable,” Sapphire Cougar said. “Now, Liquid, even if you are displaying symptoms, as long as they aren’t to the extent where you post a danger to your comrades or yourself, you’ll still be able to get clearance to join the combat team. At that point treatment is for your own comfort and mental health - some even develop coping mechanisms on their own that allow them to manage their PTSD with minimal psychiatric assistance.”

“Good for them,” Liquid said. “I mean, actually, I’m probably one of those people.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Liquid scowled.

Sapphire Cougar sighed. “I am sure this is causing you a great deal of distress,” she said, “but things will get better if you only cooperate with me. I may even be able to prescribe you medication, you know. PTSD can be treated chemically.”

“ _No_ ,” Liquid said, sitting bolt upright. “Absolutely not!”

“You would prefer not to take any medication?”

“No, I— yes, I would bloody prefer not to take any _more_ medication! I’m sick and tired of it, don’t you know how many I’m already being forced to take every day?!” He counted off on his fingers. “Seven different antibiotics, four antivirals, two antiparasitics, eight or nine vitamin pills with every meal, and a NSIAD five times a day, _and_ on top of all that I always have to put up with everyone on the bleeding medical team pestering me about taking sleeping aids at night, which I do _not_ want to do!” He clenched his hands into fists, gritting his teeth. “At least they’ve stopped bothering me about stronger painkillers…”

Sapphire Cougar had been, from the looks of things, following along in Liquid’s medical records about his prescriptions, since she nodded several times as she went down the list. “I see,” she said.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You actually ended up being quite fortunate, if you don’t mind me saying. You didn’t catch anything that can’t be cured or at least forced into permanent remission.”

“I’m not fucking lucky. If I _had_ caught something nasty then maybe they would have left me the fuck alone.”

Liquid immediately slapped a hand to his face, refusing to look at Sapphire Cougar anymore. Despite her already saying that she was aware he’d been raped, Liquid wasn’t sure if the _extent_ of it - the fact that he'd been _gang_ -raped several times a week, sometimes more than once a _day_ , for several years - was reflected in the medical report and hadn’t intended to say anything about it either way.

For a moment there was silence in the office, aside from the tick of a clock somewhere and the scratch of Sapphire Cougar’s pencil against her notepad.

Eventually she said, “Let’s run you through some hypothetical situations.”

“Fine.” Anything to change the goddamn subject.

“Let’s say you’re working for a military or PF other than Outer Heaven, or you’re a private mercenary. Your commander, or your client, orders you to fire on some civilians. What do you do?”

Liquid raised an eyebrow. “Are they armed and interested in fighting me?”

“Yes.”

“Then they’re not civilians, they’re hostiles. I shoot them.”

“And if they aren’t?”

Liquid shrugged. “I don’t,” he said, “it’s no fun- I mean, there’s no honor in it— erm, what I meant was…”

“Don’t mince words with me,” Sapphire Cougar said scoldingly. “There are no wrong answers here.”

Yeah, right. “Whatever. Next hypothetical scenario, then?”

“You’re in an engagement with some child soldiers. What do you do?”

“Fire back. If you’re old enough to kill, you’re old enough to die.”

“I see.” She wrote something down. Liquid swore internally.

“But see,” he said, leaning forward, “I know that children are in all cases considered non-combatants with _this_ PF, and aren’t to have lethal force used on them. So if I were employed here, then I would most certainly _not_ kill any child soldiers or wound them in any ways that might risk them dying. That simply isn’t allowed, I understand that, I’d respect that.”

“Ah,” Sapphire Cougar said, her pencil hand pausing, “but what if you were in a situation where you could get away with doing it?”

“You mean if no one was watching me?”

“‘Child soldier’ is defined as any hostiles under the age of eighteen,” Sapphire Cougar said, “but with older child soldiers, it can be very hard to tell at a glance, or from a distance, if they’re adults or not. So let’s say that you are attacked by a fifteen-year-old boy. You are _aware_ that he is fifteen or thereabouts, and certainly under the age of eighteen, but if you did shoot and kill him then you wouldn’t get in trouble for it even if you were witnessed by all of your teammates - you could very easily claim that you assumed he was over eighteen, and no one would be able to dispute that.”

Liquid shook his head. “If I’m aware he’s technically a child soldier, I still wouldn’t shoot.”

“Even though you would have no problems doing so if you _weren’t_ a part of Outer Heaven?”

“Standing orders like that I don’t obey because I’m afraid of the consequences of insubordination. Honestly, I don’t think I _care_ about the consequences of insubordination. This is simply a matter of my pride and honor as a soldier.”

“Are there orders you wouldn’t consider it against your pride to disobey?” Sapphire Cougar asked with raised eyebrows.

Liquid half-laughed, a little hollowly. “Well, I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t loot a corpse, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sapphire Cougar asked him about a few more hypothetical situations, these ones more about his potential interactions with teammates, which Liquid was honest about the fact that he wouldn’t sell anyone out unless _they_ sold _him_ out first (which seemed to be an acceptable enough answer) and then he failed to cover for the fact that he’d have no qualms about arguments coming to blows. In the end Liquid was very unsure about whether or not he’d be deemed suitable to join the combat unit, and the fact that Sapphire Cougar actually _commented_ on his sudden apprehension really didn’t make him feel any better.

“When would you like our next session to be?” Sapphire Cougar asked when Liquid was thoroughly worn out from her picking his brain and was ready to be done. “I have openings in my schedule to do this weekly.”

“Excuse me?”

“Many of our personnel attend regular counseling sessions. Your immediate commander will be able to adjust your schedule to allow you to-“

“I don’t have any intention of doing this bullocks again,” Liquid said firmly, “I came here to get clearance to join a combat team, and that’s it. I don’t want to talk to you. It won’t help.”

“…” Sapphire Cougar jotted down one last thing, then flipped her notebook closed. “Very well,” she said, smiling reassuringly. “They certainly _won’t_ help with that attitude. However, if you ever change your mind and would like to talk, I or one of the other counselors will always be available.”

“Hmph.”

Liquid stalked out. That hadn’t gone well, he thought, but if nothing else he’d gotten out of it without any future appointments and no indication that the medical team were going to force any _more_ pills down his gullet anytime soon. Anyway, he still had (he was fairly certain) a little more time before he was able to be considered _physically_ fit to technically enlist - his exhaustion right now served only to emphasize that - so he had a bit to think about what else he could do if he really was barred from combat.

_I’d probably like the intel team_ , he thought, _probably have a good ranking for it, too, but working with Mantis would get awkward quickly… plus, that would make Ocelot my direct superior, and..._

To his surprise, two days later Sapphire Cougar cleared him.


	54. • ◻ 2 - SOLSBURY HILL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> △ Play Briefing Tape  
> Rescue Eli, who has been held in a POW camp in Iraq for nearly four years. Ocelot discovered his location.  
> Ⓧ Deploy
> 
> Or: A rewrite of chapter two of _Wherever I Go, I'll Make It Home_ , missionfic-style, from Venom's perspective.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - implicit references to Rape/Non-Con  
> W/C 1,846

_Starring  
_ Punished “Venom” Snake    

Revolver “Shalashaska” Ocelot    

Sniper “Quiet”    

 _Enemy Combatants  
_ Iraqi Insurgents    

 _Guest Starring  
_ Eli    

 _Level Design  
_ Al-Dibdibah Desert    

September 1994    

00:00    

 _Written by  
_ aireyv    

 _Creative Producer  
_ aireyv    

 _Created by  
_ Hideo Kojima    

**Extract the former White Mamba**

_Map Info Updated_

Quiet was a damn fine scout but Venom didn’t really need her to tell him where exactly everyone at the camp was located. He just took a quick glance at the iDroid to confirm the _number_ of insurgents (about thirty), and the exact building that they kept their prisoners in. Or prisoner, rather. Ocelot had reported that Eli was the only one they had at this point, and Quiet had just confirmed it, so Venom wouldn’t waste time looking for anyone else.

The camp in question was an empty village that the Iraqis, stubborn leftovers from the Gulf War that didn’t acknowledge the ceasefire when they still could and were now dug in too deeply to return home, had claimed. Since they’d been there for the better part of four years now, Venom had no way of telling if the village had been abandoned on its own or if the insurgents had cleared it out themselves; they were a good ways away from the nearest populated settlement, much further than someone on foot would be able to make it through this desert. Several days by horse or camel, judging by the distances Venom had seen from the helicopter. Only about a day or so one way by car, though. Of course the Iraqis had to get their food and supplies from _somewhere_ …

There was a full moon that night, silvering the sand, and Venom moved carefully down the face of the dune. He could see several men standing casually around the edges of the small cluster of buildings — they certainly weren’t on alert and didn’t even seem particularly on caution despite Pequod circling around their mile perimeter to drop Venom and Quiet off at the LZ. Of course, with the LZ being a mile away it did take Venom a few minutes to get here, so they may have entirely dismissed it in that time, but then again Quiet got here almost immediately didn’t report anything…

Venom slipped around the edge of the camp, just outside the flickering furthest reaches of the camping lanterns and fires in old oil drums. Visibility was good but he kept low to the ground, so any movement that caught one of the guards’ eyes would be dismissed as a trick of the firelight. It took him just under two minutes to find a gap in the camp’s security.

“Seems they never thought they’d need more men acting as lookouts,” Ocelot commented in Venom’s earpiece. “But from the looks of things, they haven’t had any contact whatsoever with the outside world except for supply runs. Some of the insurgents haven’t left the camp at all since the war ended.”

Venom blended in with the shadows between buildings as he advanced further into the camp. Of the roughly thirty insurgents, about twenty were holed up in buildings, asleep; four of the remaining ten or so were standing around an oil-drum fire in the middle of the camp, chatting. Bone Ferret, the Arabic interpreter, picked up the radio line as soon as Venom crept closer.

“-—and covered him in ants.”

“That can’t be true. That’s only done in old American films, about Indians.”

“Didn’t you hear? They say Shalashaska’s obsessed with American films.”

“I can’t believe we let someone like that in our camp.”

“What exactly did he do to the whore, anyway? Does anyone know?”

“I heard screaming.”

“The kid said he saw the whore had a bad wound on her stomach, about here.”

“No wonder Shalashaska said to leave her alone for a few days.”

“Right. Don’t want her dying on us - not yet.”

“How long did he say again? Two days? And she’ll still be all broken and docile for us, that’ll be nice…”

Venom left them to their talk. They were on the other side of the village as the building where Eli was being kept. Quietly he could hear Bone Ferret had forgotten to mute his mic as he told Ocelot he was sure they’d been referring to the ‘whore’ femininely, but Bone Ferret had been under the impression that this op was to rescue a _male_ prisoner, so perhaps there was more than one? Venom couldn’t make out Ocelot’s response.

Contextually they could have only been talking about one person, though. Referring to him as a woman must have just been a degradation technique. Referring to him as _the_ _whore_ was what Venom was worried about.

A staticky burst filtered through the radio, Quiet clicking the call button once just to get his attention. Slowly her laser-sight drifted over the heads of the four men talking - not a one of them noticed - then trailed over the building walls in the direction of the target area. Right. Focus. Venom kept going.

“That’s the building,” Ocelot said as Venom approached the building marked by the little green ▽ on his iDroid map. “From the looks of things, it used to be a butcher’s, though the insurgents refitted it with tighter security measures. The back room where the meat was carved up is where they’ve been keeping their prisoner.”

Circling the building, Venom found there was only one entrance - the back entrance. The front entrance (and windows) were boarded up, so Venom couldn’t get in that way without making noise. The back entrance had a guard, a young man in his late teens or very early twenties, who stood stiffly and held his AK-47 awkwardly. Must not be accustomed to guard duty.

He kept fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and glancing over his shoulder at the barred window on the door. Venom frowned as he watched him. It looked to him like the young man was waffling about whether or not to go into the cell, which combined with the earlier “whore” comment Venom found rather… troubling. (He resolved to never bring it up back on Mother Base.)

Venom took out his tranquilizer pistol and lined up a shot at the young man’s head just as he aimlessly started turning away from the door, like he was hesitating on walking out on the rest of a patrol route. He didn’t leave quite yet, though. A green dot appeared on the side of his keffiyeh as Quiet also lined up a shot. Venom saw him glance vaguely in her direction and wondered if he made out her laser sight cutting through some stray floating dust - it was possible.

If he noticed he didn’t seem particularly alerted, but maybe that was what prompted him to decide to set out on the rest of his patrol. He walked off, headed towards the perimeter. Venom waited a few moments to see if someone was coming to relieve him or take up the overlap, but no one came. Venom took his chance to approach and pick the lock. The door opened with a soft clink. Moonlight cut across the floor of the room, partially illuminating an emaciated figure curled in the fetal position.

“There he is,” Ocelot said.

His eyes gleamed feverish in the dark as he cracked them open and stared blearily up at Venom. Even in this lighting Venom could tell he wasn’t able to quite focus his vision.

“F…Father…?” he said in a parched voice.

“Eli?” Venom said in an undertone, “good, you’re still alive."

Slowly Eli’s eyes fixed on Venom’s horn, then he weakly let his head fall back to the floor. “You’re not him…” he mumbled. “You’re… the other…”

“Don’t talk,” Venom said, propping Eli up and frowning at the gaping wound across his stomach. Ocelot had really done a number on him… but then again, if he hadn’t, Venom wouldn’t be able to come get him like this. Still, there was no way he'd be able to withstand the shock of a Fulton; Venom would have to extract him manually.

He picked Eli up, carefully shouldering him and shushing him when he cried out in pain. He crouched near the doorway with Eli on his back, watching for a minute to see if the young guard from earlier was about to come back. It seemed he wasn’t. Venom slipped back out of the cell without anyone noticing; before he even did so, he could feel blood soaking through his scarf.

Quiet’s laser was nowhere to be seen, but neither were any of insurgents, aside from the conversing men still in the distance. Venom headed in the opposite direction, towards the darker parts of the camp.

There was a tense moment when he heard footsteps ahead of him and spotted, a second later, that same young guard heading in his direction, but Venom ducked into a doorway outside of his line of sight. (He could hear someone snoring inside the building.) The young guard passed him obliviously, heading directly back to his post… either the rest of his patrol route was a very short loop, or else he was supposed to be stationary and had just ducked away to take a leak. Either way it’d given Venom the perfect opening, though now he had to hustle since the man was likely about to notice that the prisoner had disappeared—

…or he could stand placidly in front of closed cell door, not even noticing it was unlocked, let alone that the building he was guarding was empty. Surely he’d notice eventually, but for now Venom could continue with the slow creeping from shadow to shadow that leaving no traces often necessitated.

Venom dodged one more guard by a shamefully wide margin and had just cleared the boundaries of the camp when Eli started mumbling again.

“Ocelot said… you weren’t coming…”

“I know,” Venom said, keeping his voice low, “he explained the situation to me.”

“He… he lied… I thought I was going to die there…”

“This is Pequod,” came over Venom’s radio, “arriving shortly at LZ.”

_Quiet: On the move_

“And he… hurt me… god, it hurts. Father, i-it hurts…”

He was kind of out of it, wasn’t he? Considering the state he was in right now, Venom really couldn’t blame him.

“This is Pequod! Have arrived at LZ!”

At least he didn’t seem too badly injured, physically anyway. It would take him weeks to recover, Venom knew, but he’d be safe at Mother Base and Venom would give him all the time he needed. Hopefully the psychological damage - especially the damage Ocelot had done to buy time - was reversible. Even if it wasn’t…

Quiet appeared out of nowhere as Venom set Eli down on the floor of the helicopter. She gave both of them a scrunitizing look, then tilted her head at Venom. Venom shrugged. Pequod took off.

…even if the psychological damage couldn’t be undone and Eli was broken forever, Venom still thought he wouldn’t mind keeping him at Outer Heaven.

It was, after all, his home.


	55. Extra art 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW/Underage warning on a couple of these images

  
("Father & Son")

  

  
  


  
( _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ , chapter 21)

  
( _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ , chapter 29)


	56. Mama (Moodboard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quiet/Wolf


	57. Martyr (Moodboard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabir


	58. Friday I'm In Love (Collab)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read right to left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing/storyboard/speech balloons + typesetting by me, art by [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee)


	59. Friday I'm In Love (Initial concept)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storyboard and progress pics. Leo (hingabee) and I initially planned to do this as one of the challenges for the Winter Games, but weren't able to complete it in time. (Full disclosure: I was planning on doing the whole comic myself even before Winter Games. I had a concept page in my sketchbook a couple months before the games; I didn't bother posting it here because it's virtually identical to what you're about to see.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't @ me on continually using "storyboard" to refer to comic drafts when that's not actually the term. (ง •̀_•́)ง

Storyboard:

  
(The actual sheet music I ended up using was for electric guitar, not vocals with the lyrics edited out.)

Leo decides to take things her own direction, proposes this for the final panel:  


I say go ahead.

Linework:  


Final colors:  
  



	60. Pick-Me-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Solid didn’t really question what he planned to do although at night sometimes he heard the slight, repetitive squeaking of the queen-sized mattress that Solid figured meant Mantis had turned to _physical_ stimulation to try and cheer Liquid up but at least now Liquid kept his fucking mouth shut. Aside from some indistinct mumblings that could have come from either one of them, all Solid heard was the mattress."  
>  hingabee request, but I was planning on doing this anyway.
> 
> Explicit - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 2,000

March 2005, Twin Lakes, Alaska.  
Solid’s cabin. Nighttime.

Despite the fact that Solid wasn’t planning on worrying about it anyway, Mantis still told him that Liquid suddenly, randomly getting depressed was pretty normal and he’d recover a bit if only they could find something for him to do. Solid just raised an eyebrow at that - he had no intention of helping Mantis draw his brother back out of his bad mood, and quite frankly, that was fine by Mantis. There was, after all, a certain reliable way of getting Liquid to perk up (if only temporarily) that Mantis thought Solid ought to have no part in.

No matter how many times he’d overheard him mentally shouting down an erection when he could hear Liquid getting railed through the bedroom wall.

Liquid had essentially stayed in bed all day, only getting up a handful of times to grab a bite to eat - quite literally, he’d take a few bites of something and then surreptitiously feed the rest of it to the closest dogs - or use the bathroom. He listlessly played _Pokémon Emerald_ , and read, for a little while but neither of those things could actually hold his attention and he’d mostly just napped… or, if he couldn’t get to sleep/back to sleep, he simply laid there and wallowed in his numb misery.

It was legitimately making Mantis depressed too just watching him be like this. Liquid and depression was not a new combination, but this was the first time since they were _teens_ that Liquid had gotten into one of these moods without having any kind of job to actively do. Lacking that now, Liquid sunk deeper and deeper into the gulf of sorrow, and Mantis was dying to drag him back out before it drove _him_ nuts, _too_.

“You just don’t like being ignored,” was Liquid’s murmured accusation when Mantis crawled into bed next to him and ran his hand over his side. “You think it’s your job to keep me all pleasant and energetic and you feel useless and invalidated when I’m not.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, isn’t it? All you want right now… just reassurance that my bad mood isn’t your fault, or something… that I don’t blame you for letting me slip into this state…”

“Eli, enough.” Mantis leaned down and nuzzled him, the side of his face and neck. “Just relax.”

Liquid irritably pushed him off and rolled over so his back was facing him. “Shut up.”

“Eli…”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Eli, please. When aren’t you in the mood?”

Liquid grumbled. Mantis tried again - soft touches and close contact, lying down next to Liquid and pressing himself against him. Liquid squirmed, sighing.

“Knock it off, Mantis, why do you even think you’re doing this—“

“I just think,” Mantis whispered, “that you are overdue for a little… _reward_ for pulling off the whole Shadow Moses situation so admirably.”

“I’m not interested,” Liquid said, scooting away.

Mantis closed the distance between them, running his hands down Liquid’s front and toying coyly with the top of his pants, just brushing his fingers over skin. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Liquid said, but he didn’t say it with much certainty.

Huffing, Mantis nudged his ear with the filter of his gas mask. “Eli, I just want to help you feel better.”

“No. No, you just want sex.”

“ _Me?_ Want sex?” Mantis said, offended, sitting up.

“Go away, Mantis.”

Annoyed, Mantis tugged at Liquid’s shoulder until he groaned and rolled onto his back, glowering up at him. Mantis frowned behind his mask. Liquid always got a bit difficult when he was feeling down, but Mantis wasn’t expecting active resistance. As much as anything Liquid did right now could qualify as ‘active’.

“Don’t I have a duty to cheer up my own boyfriend?” Mantis said, leaning over him and placing a hand on his chest. “Through any means necessary.”

“I don’t want cheering up. I want to be left alone.”

“Left alone you just get more and more despondent. Let me make you feel good, Eli…”

“Nnrgh.”

Liquid just leaned his head back as Mantis started touching him again, all over his chest and sides and shoulders, moving to straddle his stomach. Mantis knew he’d break through to him eventually. Somehow. But Mantis never claimed to be particularly patient, and…

“Eli.”

“Whatever, do what you want, I don’t care, go ahead and validate yourself…”

“Please, Eli. I don’t like it when you are-“

“I don’t know why you always think trying to fuck the sad right out of me is ever going to work.”

Agh. More resistance. Obviously Mantis didn’t want to force him - didn’t want to start anything on the assumption that Liquid would warm up to it once it got underway. (Ignoring the fact that that was sort of what he was already doing.) What he _ought_ to do was _get_ Liquid interested, _then_ make him feel good and let orgasmic endorphins clear up the fog of depression for at least a little while, so for at least a little while Mantis could be comfortable with Liquid’s mood and his role therein.

But they had a delicate power imbalance to maintain, didn’t they? If Mantis had to seduce him, for the sake of his own pride he couldn’t just do it in a way that made him come across as anything less than… well…

“Are you in a foul enough mood to refuse an order?”

“Nn.”

“Very articulate.” He brushed his fingers over Liquid’s face before taking his jaw in hand and forcing him to look up at him, standing on his knees. “You aren’t in the mood? I say _get_ in the mood, Eli. I’m not going to let my little pet wallow in misery and self-pity.”

Liquid bared his teeth. “P-Pet?”

“Mmmhm. Tell me, Eli, what sort of pet is not happy to see its owner?”

“…”

Mantis let go of his face, waited half a moment to make sure Liquid wouldn’t look away again, then slowly started taking off his own shirt. “Not a very good one, I don’t think, Eli.”

“I…”

“Hm?” Mantis threw his shirt to the side and leaned back on his heels a little. He saw Liquid’s eyes flick down to his bare chest. Good. It wasn’t with the hunger he would have normally - his interest might be better described as tired curiosity — but it was a start. “Do you have something to say, my pet?”

“…no. I suppose not.”

“Stubborn…”

Liquid glanced away again. Mantis leaned forward again, looming over him and tugging the lead on his collar to make him return his gaze to him.

“Look at me, pet.”

“Mantis—“

“Shh. No more complaining. Didn’t I say I want you to feel good?”

“Ah…”

“Stop trying to convince me you don’t deserve it right now.” Mantis rolled his pants down his thighs, hoping the darkness would disguise how awkwardly and clumsy a move it was in this position. At least he didn’t hear Liquid make any mental comment about that… “You can either accept my reward like a good pet or go ahead and feel bad all night. I think we _both_ want the former, hm?”

“Mantis, I’m- I’m tired, I’d rather sleep.”

“You have been sleeping all day, Eli.”

That got a whine out of him. Mantis’ pants joined his shirt on the floor - and he hadn’t been wearing anything underneath, those were sleep clothes, he generally didn’t bother… he took a deep breath. He didn’t often get naked, even in front of Liquid, and he thought this was maybe the first time when _he_ was nude while Liquid _wasn’t_. (Though Liquid was, of course, shirtless.)

At least the lack of pants was starting to attract Liquid’s attention. Even in the dark his eyes were directed between Mantis’ legs. Still not exactly looking at him with genuine interest (not even a passing thought about which orifice he’d rather put it in tonight), but he was started to get a little invested in the proceedings.

Good.

“Good boy,” Mantis said, resting his hands on his own hips, framing his dick, posing really — certainly it was embarrassing, but Liquid could be rather visual. “You know, if you are tired- I said I only wanted to make my pet feel good, did I not? You don’t have to do anything.” Liquid glanced up at Mantis’ face. “You can just lie back and enjoy yourself… I will do all the work. Magnanimously.”

Liquid licked his lips, a frenetic gesture. “Take off your mask,” he said quietly.

Mantis complied.

With the mask off he was able to hit upon what Liquid really wanted right now - gentle, open-mouthed kisses, lots of affection and all that. Mantis even went so far as to kiss down his throat (though he hesitated on going any lower than his shoulders — found himself a little shy for that, though he played it off). Finally he got what he was aiming for: Liquid reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck, his back arching - just a bit - into Mantis’ touch.

“Good boy,” Mantis said again, nipping his ear. Sometimes he wondered why Liquid didn’t mind the scrape of nylon wire, but then again, he never thought it made sense that Liquid didn’t mind Mantis’ _everything else_.

Depressed Liquid was even more of a pillow princess getting fucked than he was normally. He mostly just laid there naked, legs spread, arms around Mantis’ neck, whimpering so softly the repetitive squeaking of the mattress as Mantis moved nearly drowned him out. Mantis didn’t care. He was just happy for the attention, if he was being brutally honest with himself. Maybe Liquid wasn’t doing much but his fuzzy thoughts were centered mainly around Mantis, and the pleasure he was giving him. Not about how terrible he felt. He felt _good_.

“M-Mantis,” Liquid gasped, tucking himself away under Mantis’ chin. “Mantis…”

“Hm…? Ah… Eli— do you need something, my pet?”

“Mmmn…”

“Do you feel good now, pet?” He kissed him quickly. “Do you?”

“Oh, ah- uh-huh—“

“Mmm, I thought so. You feel so nice around me, Eli, what a good pet you are… you know I, ah, want to keep you forever and ever…”

“Mantis… I l-love you…”

“I know, Eli, I know.” He shut him up with another kiss. “You’re such a good boy,” he whispered against his lips.

Liquid moaned, voice low, tilting his pelvis up so Mantis could get a fraction of an inch deeper. Eyes closed, he was pretty in the low light, his loose hair spread all over the pillow like rays of golden sun peeking out behind an eclipse. Mantis kissed him again, and again, and relished the way Liquid lost himself in the romance of the moment.

And then they were done. The actual climax was ordinary and unremarkable, and there wasn’t much of an afterglow - Liquid just immediately took his opportunity to cuddle up to Mantis and get some sleep. At least in this case it was honest, comfortable rest instead of sleeping to temporarily escape from… _existing_ , really.

“Mantis?”

“Mm?” He ran his fingers back through Liquid’s hair.

“I… I’m sorry I was being a brat,” Liquid murmured.

“Oh… an unprompted apology? …what is it you want?”

Liquid nuzzled him tiredly. “Mmn.” _I liked it when you called me your pet_ , he thought.

“Ha.”

_Maybe you could… do it more often?_

“Maybe I could.”

_Though I’m afraid I’m not a very good pet after all… I’m a lazy pet…_

“Oh, hush.” Mantis waved his hand, bringing his mask to him. “You are not lazy, Eli, you just… things are a little rough for you sometimes… that is all.”

“Nn.”

“You are good.”

He felt Liquid smile against his neck. A few minutes later, he drifted off. Mantis kissed the top of his head then put his mask back on.

And hopefully he wouldn’t have to do this again tomorrow night, too.


	61. Award-Winning Blockbuster (Comic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “'It could be worse,' Octopus said sagely, 'just you wait until someone makes an award-winning blockbuster "based on a true story" dramatization of the uprising where you’re the main character and also played by Jeff Goldblum.'
> 
> "Otacon was almost afraid to ask _why Jeff Goldblum._
> 
> “'Do you really think that would happen?' Raven said, glancing the rear-view mirror.
> 
> “'Oh, definitely,' Octopus said. 'I’m sure by this point, somebody’s already written a screenplay and major movie studios are all fighting over it.'
> 
> “'I wonder if they will give you a love interest?' Wolf said to Otacon. Otacon wasn’t sure if she was messing with him or not. 'I suppose if all the "official" public record says is that a secret agent was sent in, there is nothing stopping the director from assuming that Solid Snake was actually a sexy woman in a skin-tight catsuit.'
> 
> “'That… isn’t too far off from real life,' Otacon said awkwardly.
> 
> “'You have a point.'”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so Mei Ling here is a bit anachronistic re: where we are in FeetGround at the moment but THIS IS MY MAGNUM OPUS AND IT _COULD NOT WAIT_


	62. Character portraits 4

  
(Catherine, T/N it means "expensive")

  
(Colonel Jackson, h/t [nightcheesus](http://nightcheesus.tumblr.com))

  
(Dr. Madnar, h/t nightcheesus)

   



	63. The Jam (Comic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of chapters 41 and 43 of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ , illustrating the difference between a bunch of idiots who just cause drama amongst themselves and a bunch of idiots who actually do something productive and get shot for it.  
> You know, statistically, in this AU Mei Ling poses a greater threat to FOXHOUND than Solid Snake does.

  


  
  


  
  



	64. After Midnight (Moodboard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ocelot/Mantis - Рокси Харт и Вэлма Келли

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make it clear, "After Midnight" is the name of an instrumental track in _Chicago_ 's score.


	65. Stiranekê, Meznayî

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven talks about what went down at the Galzburg FOB ten years ago.  
> Takes place somewhere between chapter 33 and just before chapter 38 of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_.
> 
> General Audiences - offscreen Major Character Death  
> W/C 1,137

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao I didn't actually have anyone double-check my Kurmanji here _and_ I reverse-engineered the grammar from an online dictionary instead of finding a guide, whoops. It doesn't even fit the meter of the song this time... RIP

March 2005, Tulsequah safehouse.

“Actually, Raven,” Wolf said abruptly, “about that conversation we had in the car on the way here…”

“The mutual exchanging of backstories?” Raven said, “yes, I was surprised as well to hear about Octopus’ family.”

Wolf shook her head. “No, it is not that,” she said. “It just that… when you were a part of Outer Heaven, you were in A- through S-rank unit one, were you not?”

“I was,” Raven said.

“And that was the unit at the Galzburg FOB when _the incident_ happened.”

“It was,” Raven said. “I’m afraid I was the only surviving member of my team.”

Wolf thoughtfully popped the tab on a warm can of Pepsi, leaning back in her chair. “So… what is the story behind that, anyway?” she said. “I recall there was a bit of talk about you right after the incident happened, right before I left Outer Heaven, but… well, what I mostly remember is that you were among those of us who left immediately after the FOB was sacked and Saladin died. No one blamed you.”

Raven nodded. “As I recall, we took different boats.”

“Oh, please, you would not have remembered me if we did. We did not know each other.”

“I knew you by sight.”

“Sounds romantic,” Octopus called from the other room.

“Oh, shut up!” Wolf called back, “Raven and I are trying to have a conversation here!”

“You are welcome to join, Octopus,” Raven said. His voice was deep enough to carry speaking better than Wolf or Octopus could shouting. Combined.

Octopus poked his head in the doorway. “How much is there to really say about the Outer Heaven uprising, anyway?” he said, “we all know the story. God knows the boss has ranted about it enough.”

Raven shook his head. “The boss was not there, he does not truly know what happened.”

“So what _did_ happen?” Wolf said. “We only ever got scraps of information - just the death tolls, and rumors that Big Boss sent his best soldier in on purpose in order to kill Saladin.”

“His best soldier was Gray Fox, whom we took prisoner,” Raven said.

“Oh. I always thought that referred to Snake.”

“The boss definitely gave that impression,” Octopus said, sitting down at the table with them with his own Pepsi. “I mean, to be fair to him, if _I_ ran a special forces unit, and one of the guys was my genetically enhanced _clone_ , I’m pretty sure I’d consider him my best soldier.”

“Snake was a rookie at this time,” Raven said, shaking his head again. “It almost seemed as though _the phantom_ was intended to kill _him_ , not the other way around.”

Wolf raised her eyebrows. “Well,” she said, “didn’t Snake not know about who his father was until several years later? I am not sure that he knows about the cloning thing even now.”

“The boss definitely mentioned it to him at some point by now,” Octopus said, rolling his eyes, “you know him.”

“True. But the point is… would Big Boss not have known?”

“I believe he would have,” Raven said, “but I never met him. I was only acquainted with the phantom.”

“Me as well… in my eyes, Saladin is the only ‘Big Boss’ there is.”

“He was kind of a dick,” Octopus said blandly, taking a sip of Pepsi. “Honest to God, I liked serving in this unit _way_ more after the ol’ one-eyed wonder ran off to Central Asia and Colonel Campbell took over.”

“He was not a bad commander,” Wolf said, nodding.

“The names thing was fuckin’ hilarious, though. I can’t believe your legal name is literally _Wolf, Sniper_. And Mantis’ old ID documents all saying ‘John Doe’ or ‘Ivan Ivanovitch’ on them… I’m surprised Roy didn’t just give up and go back to codenames entirely. Especially since the boss’ real name was actually classified.”

“I never had any sort of personal documents until I was picked up by Saladin, though,” Wolf said, sounding mildly affronted, “and Sniper Wolf is the name they gave me.”

“I believe we have gotten off-topic,” Raven said dryly.

“Right…” Wolf turned back to Raven. “But how much do you know really? Were you even on-base when it all went down?”

Raven frowned, then shook his head.

Wolf huffed. “I thought so. There must have been a reason why you and you alone survived NATO bombing the place into dust.”

“I was not the only survivor,” Raven said. “But… in terms of Outer Heaven personnel, there were indeed few of us. All of the prisoners made it out safely, though.”

“How so?” Octopus said.

“Quiet was in charge of guarding them.”

“All of them, by herself?”

“She was capable of it,” Wolf said.

“She certainly was,” Raven agreed, “and when it became evident that the FOB would fall, she personally evacuated them all.”

“But she herself…” Wolf said, then trailed off, frowning into her Pepsi.

“What about you, though?” Octopus asked Raven. “What were you doing?”

“Members of my unit were assigned command over lower-ranking groups also at the FOB,” Raven said. “It happened that while all of my teammates were on-campus and therefore in Snake’s line of fire and the scope of the air raid, I was overseeing patrols around the perimeter. I was several miles away from the fortress when it all went down.”

Octopus cringed. “Ah,” he said, “I see. Jeez… I figured the survivor’s guilt must be bad enough, but… you were actually supposed to be the first line of defense against Snake’s infiltration? No offense.”

“None taken. I actually attended therapy for many years between the Outer Heaven incident and joining FOXHOUND.”

“If you were not actually there at the time,” Wolf said suddenly, “does that mean you do not know any details the rest of us never heard?”

Raven considered it for a moment, then sighed. “There is, I believe, one thing. About Quiet.”

“Yes?”

“One of the lower-ranking men was present when she evacuated the prisoners. He told me afterwards that as soon as she was through getting the prisoners out, she returned back inside, though the bombing had already started.”

“…it was for Saladin, wasn’t it.” She said it as a flat statement, not a question.

Raven nodded.

Wolf sagged in her chair. “I see,” she said at length. “She returned… though Saladin and Snake had already engaged. Saladin was, most likely, already dead.”

“She had no way of knowing that. Not for sure.”

“She went back just in case.”

There was a brief pause. Wolf covered her eyes with one hand for a moment or two, then took a deep breath, put her hand down, straightened herself, and smiled at Raven and Octopus.

“So,” she said, “we should talk about something other than… such depressing things. Who wants to play cards?”


	66. Memes 4

  
(h/t solidscrooge/[JanewayDroideka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanewayDroideka/pseuds/JanewayDroideka)... my older brother...)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t hingabee re: EVA)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t hingabee)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t Brambora) (only marginally related but I stole it anyway)

  
(h/t hingabee)

  
  
(h/t Brambora)

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoil Infinity War for me and _die_.


	67. Fanart 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW**
> 
> Gabir/Liquid fanart by [Phase7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phase7)! No this isn't a cock expansion fetish thing we were just, shall we say, speculating on the size of Gabir's dick. The actual conclusion to that line of thought I'll keep under my hat until _Cicero_ comes out...


	68. Fanart 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute fanart by [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee) for the updated chapter 47 of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ ~


	69. Memes 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ chapter 56 onwards.

  
(Gabir "fanart" by Brambora)

  
(h/t hingabee, re: herself)


	70. Character portraits 5




	71. Easy Come, Easy Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid acts out.
> 
> Mature - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 1,161

200X, FOXHOUND headquarters.

_Mantis?_

Mantis ignored the mental poke, and turned a page in his book.

_Mantis… Mantis…? hello?_

> -—dreary weather (the rain drops were falling audibly down on the metal window ledge) made him quite melancholy. ‘Why don’t I keep sleeping for a little while longer and forget all this foolishness,’ he thought. But this was entirely impractical, for he was used to sleeping on his right side, and in his present state he couldn’t get himself into this position. No matter how hard he threw himself onto his right side, he always rolled again onto his back. He must have tried it a hundred times, closing his eyes, so that he would not have to see the wriggling legs…

_Mantis! I know you can hear me—_

> He slid back again into his earlier position. ‘This getting up early,’ he thought, ‘makes a man quite idiotic. A man must have his sleep. Other traveling salesmen live like harem women.

_Mantis!!_ A whiny, desperate psychic shove. Liquid _really_ wanted his attention. Sighing, Mantis snapped his book shut, which apparently warranted a lazily curious glance from Octopus but didn’t garner a reaction from anyone else in the breakroom.

_What_ , Mantis thought, _do you_ want _, Eli._

_I— I need help._

_Glad to hear you finally admit it,_ Mantis thought, stalking out of the breakroom and in the direction of his and Liquid’s quarters.

_That isn’t funny!_ Liquid replied, hysterical, _I’m… it’s… it’s stuck._

“Oh?” Mantis said out loud. _Well, maybe that’s just what you get for sneaking off and misbehaving while_ I’m _just trying to relax…_

_I wasn’t trying to… it’s because you haven’t… I just couldn’t help…_ Liquid’s mind rapidly flitted through pointless excuses before Mantis felt a wave of second-hand embarrassment and resignation. _I’m sorry. Can you come help me?_

_We do have a medical team, you know._

_I can’t face them like this!!!!_

_Then figure it out yourself_ , Mantis told him snidely, standing outside their door.

There was a long pause while Liquid tried to sort out his thoughts. He eventually settled on a meek _It’s still on…_

“I know,” Mantis sighed, unlocking the door and stepping in. Even though Liquid already knew it was only Mantis, there was still a flurry of awkward activity on the bed as Liquid tried to hide himself, though he had already sheepishly burrowed under the blankets. “Stop moving around so much, you’ll only make it worse.”

“I- I-I just—“ Liquid was a mess. Blushing furiously, hair sticking to his temples with sweat, generally wound up and absolutely mortified. It was about what could be expected from a man who had been (despite it being against the rules) masturbating with a vibrator only to be interrupted by getting said vibrator stuck up his ass.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Mantis said coolly, sitting at the end of the bed.

“Y-Yes, it’s starting t-to— e-especially now, I’ve a-already… ah… well, wh-when it got stuck I figured i-it wasn’t going anywhere f-for a few minutes, s-so…”

Mantis sighed theatrically. “I would say that it is unbelievable that you would prioritizing _getting off_ over _getting help_ with a sex toy stuck inside you, but… this _is_ you.”

Liquid looked down, humiliated. “A-Anyway… you know I g-get… sort of o-oversensitive at this point, s-so… so… i-it…”

Mantis rested his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm, giving Liquid a very bored look. “You brought this upon yourself, you know.”

“I-I know! But I c-can’t get it out on my own and I-I’m not going to go to the m- _medical team_ over th-this—!”

“A little public humiliation seems like an appropriate punishment for breaking my rules.”

“N-No!!”

Mantis shrugs. “Then, you expect me to just get it out myself?”

“Yes, i-it should be bloody easy w-with your psychic powers, so why d-don’t you…”

Mantis leaned in Liquid’s direction enough to take his face in his hands. “I will,” he said, “but I still think you ought to be punished for this.”

“F-Fine,” Liquid said, squirming. “But p-please, take it out, it’s s-starting to hurt and I d-don’t like it.”

“Hmmm…”

“Wh- what?!”

“Maybe I’ll just leave it buzzing away in there for a while, as your punishment…”

Liquid stared at him for a moment, then sat up, grimacing, throwing off the blanket he’d been hiding under. Mantis immediately grabbed his shoulders, signalling for him to sit still. He could tell where the damn vibrator _was_ and it wasn’t currently an issue, but if Liquid moved around too much then it very well could be.

“I-I don’t want to,” Liquid stammered, genuinely looking (and feeling) like he’d burst into frustrated tears if Mantis pushed him too hard, “c-can’t we just do that later, I w-want it out r-right _now_ —“

“Shh, shh.” Mantis moved closer, stroking his hair. “Just calm down.”

“I-It hurts, at l-least turn it off, Mantis…!!”

“I will. Just a moment.” Mantis rested his hand on Liquid’s lower back, turning the vibrator off. He had a good telekinetic hold on it by now, so he didn’t need to read the intolerable sensation Liquid was feeling in order to figure out where exactly in his lower intestine the toy was located. “Is that better?”

“M-Mmhm.”

“Good. Lie down, Eli. And relax — I mean it, do not move a muscle.”

It only took a moment and a few grimaces for Mantis to get the vibe out, with Liquid staying still and silent the entire time. Liquid let out a deep breath once it was over.

“Better?” Mantis said again, rubbing Liquid’s stomach.

“Erm… y-yes… thank you, Mantis.”

He was still embarrassed. Mantis rolled his eyes. “And now you have a good example of _why_ I banned masturbation.”

“I thought it was just… you just liked having a say in whether or not I touch myself.”

“…well, if it ever dawns on you that if you want to stick something inside you you need to make sure it has a _base_ so it does not get _lost_ … I still wouldn’t allow it.”

“Ah… I thought so.”

Mantis patted his head. “So about that punishment…”

“Later,” Liquid mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“Fine.”

Mantis left him to his nap. Aside from having to clean the accursed sex toy again, he could have forgotten about the incident entirely. Sure, it had been a dumb move on Liquid’s end, but Liquid made a lot of dumb moves just as a matter of course… especially when he was horny, doubly so when he was aroused.

So it ended up being Liquid who reminded Mantis that he owed him a punishment at about three the following morning, because Liquid had woken up suddenly and was feeling insecure and was desperate for attention and all that… at that point Liquid was getting edged for annoying Mantis about sex at such an indecent hour as he was for touching himself without Mantis’ permission twelve hours ago.

But, arguably, Mantis had really brought this upon himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kafka, Franz. _The Metamorphosis._ Translated by Ian Johnston, Malaspina University-College, 2015.


	72. Outside the Dawn is Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concurrent to and immediately after _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ chapter 55. Contains spoilers.
> 
> The aftermath.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - Major Character Death  
> W/C 2,396

2005, Brunswick county, Virginia. I-85, en route to Richmond.

“There. There you go.” Mantis sighed shakily. “The bleeding’s stopped, Eli.”

“Mngh.”

“…or at least stopped enough that I can dress the wound. Please, sit still.”

“I-I am.”

“You are shivering.”

“I’m cold! It- it’s cold in here. The air conditioning is too high.” Liquid was agitated, understandably so. Raven’s death alone would have been enough to put him in this state - nevermind the ominous dying words, and the humiliation of fainting — a severe gunshot wound, on top of that, _and_ the fact that he’d been soaked with freezing water? Peeling the soaked sneaking suit off of him and covering him in blankets helped a little, but Mantis needed a certain amount of torso uncovered to work on his injury.

“The air conditioner is not on, Eli.” In fact, Mantis was finding it rather hot and stuffy in the closet-sized back room of the RV, even though the partition-door was ajar. The bed was barely big enough for the two of them to sit on; having two puppies also there didn’t help, but they stayed on the floor, looking up at Liquid and Mantis.

“I’m still cold.”

“I know, I know.” Mantis would re-clean and re-dress the wound when they got to Richmond, for now he just put gauze over it. “There,” he said, taping it on. “Why don’t you just get some sleep?”

“…”

“Eli.”

“I can’t,” Liquid said, looking away. “It’s… the ride is too bumpy, it’s jostling me around too much to get any sleep.” He adjusted the blankets on him - Benedict jumped up on the bed. Mantis moved to shoo him away, but decided against it, instead standing up. Benedict could help warm Liquid up.

“You fall asleep in cars all the time.”

“Well, it’s more all the jolting around is bothering my wound.”

“…we are on the highway. This is the smoothest ride we can get.” And Liquid had fallen asleep in much greater pain plenty of times before.

“Not smooth enough,” Liquid said shortly. Bêdeng also jumped up on the bed, snuggling up to Liquid on the opposite side as Benedict. “I’d never be able to sleep like this.”

“Alright, then stay awake.” There was no point in arguing over this. If Liquid wanted to stay awake and brood… by the time they got to Richmond Mantis could just put him to bed anyway. “But by all means, get some rest. Don’t leave that bed. You might cause the bleeding to start again.”

“Nn.”

“Call me if you need anything, I will be right there,” Mantis promised, then shut the partition behind him, and sighed.

The RV was cramped with everyone in it. The atmosphere was tense; the emotion in the RV was putting Mantis on edge. The only people not sitting basically in front of Mantis were Liquid behind and Octopus up front, driving. Otacon and Mei Ling were having a quiet conversation. Solid was sitting with a blanket over his shoulders and Frank across his lap. Solidus was watching the road outside out the window. Wolf was leaning against the wall, staring off into space. She caught Mantis’ eye.

“How is he?” she asked. Mei Ling and Otacon stopped their conversation to glance over, as did Solidus and Solid.

Mantis shrugged. “He will live. But as far as I can tell, the bullet went through his liver. He lost a lot of blood.”

“Aren’t wounds to the liver usually fatal?” Otacon piped up.

“This is Liquid we’re talking about,” Solid said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, his primary claim to fame is being impossible to kill,” Solidus commented.

Mantis seethed silently. Of course he was worried, but they did have a point - Liquid _was_ ridiculously hard to kill. He had an incredibly propensity for handily surviving conditions, situations, and injuries that would be fatal for an average human. And the bleeding _was_ stopped now, before he’d lost _too_ much blood… now all Liquid had to do was stay warm and sit still.

But this kind of levity… it was annoying. Mantis found himself glaring at Solid. He’d foolishly trusted that woman Holly White, and she’d pulled an alarm on them. The result of that alarm was Liquid getting shot and Raven getting killed. Mantis really couldn’t care less that they’d accomplished their goal before the alarm. He didn’t care about any of that.

“Is he asleep?” Wolf asked, ignoring the whole exchange.

“No,” Mantis shook his head. “He is exhausted, though. If he stays awake all the way to Richmond then I am sure he’ll be out as soon as we get him into a proper bed.”

I-95, just outside Richmond.

“The hotel is off of the next exit, no?” Wolf said, entering the driver’s cabin.

“Yup.” Octopus looked completely unruffled, as casual as ever. Nothing about him even hinted that anything had happened back there.

Wolf knew him better than that.

“Am I not going to ask you if you are alright,” she said, “because I know you are not.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“You and Raven were always… very close. So… seeing his death like that…”

“Wolf. I worked for FOXHOUND for, like, fifteen years. I don’t care about death.”

“This is different.”

“…” Octopus sighed, but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Yeah,” he said, “it is. Because Raven didn’t… nevermind.”

“…Octopus…”

“You’re right, Wolf, I’m not okay. But that doesn’t mean I can’t act like I am. I’m still an actor, even after all this.”

“…”

“You can mourn in your way. Let me mourn in mine.”

“Certainly,” Wolf said quietly, “as long as you _do_ mourn.”

That night. A Taco Bell within walking distance of the hotel.

Pretty much as soon as they were settled in the hotel room, the team broke up for the evening. The dogs stayed in the RV. The remnants of FOXHOUND stayed at the hotel, after Octopus had dug up a six-pack of beer from somewhere in the RV. Solid needed cigarettes, so he put an inconspicuous hat on and headed for a nearby 7-11, with Otacon tagging along just in case. Mei Ling was hungry (or maybe just wanted to eat the shock away), so she ventured out to find food, bringing Solidus with her.

While Mei Ling was inside ordering, Solidus loitered in the parking lot, talking to Ocelot about the results of the bunker raid over cell phone.

“…I’ll admit I held no great love for Raven,” Ocelot said.

“Oh, I’m aware,” Solidus replied, “but it’s still troubling that, considering we were expecting less security there than we will at any _other_ holding we’ll eventually have to infiltrate… the fact that we had even one casualty…”

“And it was Snake’s fault, you say? Hm, then we’ll have to make sure Liquid doesn’t try to kill him. Again.”

“If only because it wouldn’t be a fair fight in Liquid’s current condition,” Solidus muttered.

“Mm. At any rate…”

“I was hoping this would be done more discreetly.”

“I’m afraid that was never an option, sir,” Ocelot said. “There was no way they wouldn’t notice the destruction of their servers and find a way to link it to us.”

“Yes, but…”

“What was going on before, sir, was mere insubordination. Today it became open war.”

“…and so the time for subtlety has passed, eh?”

“And yet it’ll be some time before we’re in a position to make another direct move.”

“I agree. So, in short… we’ve started our own Cold War.”

“Isn’t that exactly what Liquid was complaining about a few months ago?”

“You know,” Mei Ling said, standing behind Solidus with tacos in hand, “I don’t think that’s very secure.”

“Er—“ Solidus ended the call, flustered. “I assure you, our cell phones are perfectly secure. Everything is encrypted, they-“

“No, I mean, standing in a parking lot while you talk. I’m not worried about scanners.”

“Oh… well, the parking lot _is_ empty.”

“I guess so. Hey, you wanted soft-shell, right?”

A 7-11 within walking distance of the hotel.

“Look,” Solid said, “she _caught_ me. If I’d decided _not_ to trust her she would have just called an alert earlier. It would have still ended the same way, except we wouldn’t have been able to complete our objective.”

“Sure, but…” Otacon adjusted his glasses, then the hood of his jacket. “Come on, Snake. How’d she even catch you in the first place? It’s not like you walked into an ambush or anything. I thought you were better than that.”

Solid winced. “I told you, we worked together six years ago. She knew my tricks.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Otacon…” Solid growled.

The conversation died as Solid went to the register to buy his cigarettes. Otacon stayed turned away, focused on on a flickering TV set to a news channel harping on about Alaska being nuked and the President going missing and Vice President James Johnson being officially sworn in to finish out George Sears’ term. The cashier didn’t ask Solid for ID.

Solid lit up as soon as they were out the door. Otacon coughed pointedly. Solid gave him an annoyed look. “It’s been a rough day, alright?”

“At least you survived it. And you weren’t injured.”

“…”

“To be honest, Snake, I’m more worried about what everyone else is going to do to you,” Otacon said, “I mean, your brother hates you enough already. Then, because of you, he gets shot in the liver and almost dies _and_ one of his friends dies horribly right in front of him.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Solid snapped. “And don’t forget the first time I _met_ any of them I _was_ under orders to kill them.”

“But you didn’t.”

“…maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Maybe if you had there wouldn’t be anyone trying to strike back against the Patriots.”

They both stopped walking and gave each other long, hard looks. There was something unspoken in the air, some unwilling assumption that both had that the other doubted their commitment to the cause - and their own willingness to see this through, too.

Solid turned away, exhaling smoke and breaking the tension. They kept walking back to the hotel in silence.

The hotel. The next morning.

“Boss? Are you awake?” Wolf nudged open the room door. “I brought you a bagel.”

“Hmn…”

“How are you feeling?”

Liquid sat up, gingerly touching his side where he’d been shot. He was heavily bandaged and there was a spot of blood visible through the gauze, which probably wasn’t good. “Er… a little… weak-kneed, still, I think.”

“Maybe breakfast will help you feel better. Should I go get Mantis to help you change your bandages?”

“I suppose so.” Wolf handed him the bagel and he took a bite, untoasted and without any spread. “Where is he, anyway? Normally he… at night…”

“Oh, he was worried he might accidentally hurt you if he came and laid down next to you, so he hung out in the front room all night. …after we got housecleaning to clean up all the beer.”

“All the what? Actually,” Liquid said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “I’ll just go get him myself.”

“Ah—“ Wolf knew Liquid was going to topple over before Liquid did, and caught him just in time, propping him up against her shoulder. “He went downstairs to get some orange juice from the continental breakfast. Are you sure you should be out of bed?”

“What? I’m fine, Wolf.” He pulled himself away from her and walked out of the room, Wolf following close behind. “Honestly, I’m sure I’m going to be getting _more_ than enough nagging from Mantis alone, I don’t need you doing it, too.”

“Boss, but-“

Liquid’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitching as he caught sight of Solid. “…”

“Morning,” Solid said awkwardly.

“This is all _your_ fault,” he hissed, “I _told_ you not to-“

“Boss, please,” Wolf cried, grabbing his shoulders, “you shouldn’t fight with Snake, not now, at least wait until you have stopped bleeding everywhere!”

Liquid shrugged her off, glaring at Solid. “That woman,” he snarled, “I knew she was a bad idea, I _told_ you not to trust her, you fool!! _Now_ look what’s happened!” He threw his bagel at Solid, pelting him in the head. Solid flinched.

“Okay, look,” Solid said, brushing crumbs out of his hairline, “I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t want things to turn out like that - but it’s not like I was _trying_ to get us caught—“

“Raven is _dead_ because of you!” Liquid lunged at Solid. Solid stepped back, and Liquid was unable to correct, instead collapsing to the floor with his hand to his side, breathing hard through gritted teeth. Wolf gasped and pulled him to his feet quickly, fussing over him and shooting glares at Solid.

“Boss, you have started bleeding again, that isn’t good,” Wolf mumbled, herding him back into his room. Liquid didn’t have the energy to protest or even lob a parting remark at Solid. Solid was left alone in the front room with just a bagel on the floor for company for a moments, and then a door closed somewhere and Wolf came back, putting her hands on her hips. “…”

“……”

“I just want you to know,” she said, “that _I_ do not blame you for what happened.”

“…why do I feel like there’s a catch?”

She tossed her hair. “Because I do think that my comrades’ feelings of blame towards you are valid. So to be clear, I only stopped Liquid from trying to attack you again for his own sake, not yours.”

“I get that a lot,” Solid said dryly.

“But in my eyes your only sin was naïvety. Liquid is absolutely right: you _were_ a fool to trust that woman. If you and she ever cross paths again…”

“…”

“…you should just kill her. And if _you_ don’t, then _someone else_ will.”

Solid sighed. “I get it.”

“Do you understand, or do you agree?” Wolf leaned way too close to him.

“I agree, I agree,” Solid said quickly, backing up from her with his hands raised. “Ugh. If I ever see Holly again, she’s dead. Okay? Obviously she can’t be trusted. That was a mistake.”

“Yes. Good.”

“Alright.” He put his hands down. “I’m going to go have a smoke on the balcony. _Please_ don’t let anyone come back there and push me off.”

“Certainly.”


	73. Extra art 5

  
(based almost word-for-word off of a comment hingabee left on chapter 59 of the original  _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ )  
(also inspired [this chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759107/chapters/31624527) of hingabee's  _menagerie_ )

  
(re: chapter 47 of  _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ )


	74. Stiranekê, Meznayî 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nocturne talks about what changed at Outer Heaven after the Galzburg incident.  
> Takes place during chapter 64 of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_.
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 1,705

May 2007, Cape Town safehouse.

“Nice pad you got here,” Nocturne said sarcastically as Wolf prodded her into the safehouse. Benedict barked at her a few times, then stopped, wagging his tail and staring at Bêdeng with with a look of doggy confusion on his face. Bêdeng just wagged her tail in turn. Octopus gave Wolf a quizzical look.

“So _this_ is the sniper?” he said.

Wolf nodded. “Drowsy Quoll,” she said, “she was my teammate back at-“

“Oh, shut up!” Nocturne snapped. “You have no right to talk about Outer Heaven, you _deserter_.”

“I did not desert,” Wolf said stiffly, “I retired.”

“You retired because things weren’t going your way anymore. You retired because you couldn’t be the head sniper’s little pet anymore!”

“Quoll, I am this close to breaking your jaw,” Wolf said, holding her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart.

“That’s not my name!”

“Ladies, ladies, please,” Octopus said, stepping between them. “Wolf, Liquid’s investigating a possible lead at the Wingfield aerodrome.”

“Ah,” Wolf said, “hoping to intercept a flight out of here with Mantis on it…?”

Octopus shrugged. “Quoll—“

“It’s _Nocturne_.”

“—why don’t you go take a seat over there?” he went on like she hadn’t spoke, gesturing to the couch. Nocturne frowned at him, but did as he suggested, looking around warily. Wolf rolled her eyes, but busied herself calling Liquid on Codec.

“So,” Nocturne said as soon as Wolf hung up. She put her arms behind her head, sprawling out arrogantly. “What exactly do you plan on _doing_ with me?”

…

“I’m not going to say a word,” Nocturne snapped. Benedict barked at her. She shut up.

Octopus threw up his hands. “Doesn’t matter to me if you get mauled,” he said. “You don’t know what the boss is like when he’s angry. Wolf and I literally just want to keep you alive long enough to tell us where the fuck our friend went, okay?”

“If you are lucky, we may even allow you to escape with your life,” Wolf said. “Very lucky.”

“Eh, a quick and merciful death sounds more likely.”

“Either way it is in your best interests to speak, and speak quickly, Quoll,” Wolf said. “Perhaps, if you tell us what happened to Mantis before our boss gets back—“

“Oh, stop calling me that!” Nocturne said.

“What is wrong with Quoll?”

“I told you, my name is Nocturne!”

“Tch.” Wolf grit her teeth. “You snap at me for bringing up Outer Heaven, yet you refuse to use the name Ocelot gave you??”

Nocturne sniffed. “When Outer Heaven fell I thought it was appropriate to change my name. But unlike _you_ , I stayed there _until_ the bitter end instead of running off when the first Big Boss died.”

“Hey, wait,” Octopus said, “does that mean that you were at Zanzibar Land? You know, when Snake infiltrated it and killed his dad?”

“…” Nocturne frowned. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but… there weren’t exactly many women at that particular fortress. Actually, there were no female Outer Heaven personnel whatsoever.”

Wolf blinked. “How did _that_ happen?” she said. “I know we women were _outnumbered_ , but we had enough that every multi-bodied engagement seemed to have at least _one_.”

Nocturne snorted, glanced away. “There was a… kind of change in company culture when the second Big Boss took over,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not to say it became hostile for women, but the selling point for joining Outer Heaven - the glory of war, and all that — definitely a lot more attractive for men. And we were losing people like crazy, men _and_ women were leaving but really only men were joining up.”

“It gets kind of self-causing after a certain point too, doesn’t it?” Octopus said, “I mean, most women who’d otherwise be down to join would get turned off by it being _too_ much of a sausage fest.”

“Yeah, that too. So there were just less and less women around and in those last few months, I was…” she sighed. “I was actually the last woman in the combat unit.”

“Ouch,” Wolf said.

“Yeah. I had to share barracks with the women on the medical team, what a hassle.” Nocturne shook her head. “Anyway, the big fortress in Zanzibar Land that was our main FOB there - or, I think it was actually supposed to be our new Mother Base, and the one near Seychelles was going to become an FOB - at the time that Solid Snack or whatever infiltrated, it was just combat unit guys and some R&D. Since I was the only woman in combat, it wasn’t hard to end up with only men there… I was actually stationed in the Kosovo FOB at the time. R&D being all men was just a coincidence, as far as I know.” She thought about it for a moment. “Actually, I _heard_ that there were two or three women on the R &D team originally assigned to go there, but they all decided to swap out because… well, like ugly over here said…”

“Excuse me,” Octopus said indignantly.

“…hold on,” Wolf said, “you got stuck in the Kosovo FOB? Is that not just literally an apartment?”

“Uh.” Nocturne blinked. “Well. Yes, technically. Maybe more like a condo, Outer Heaven wasn’t just renting it, they owned the property and all. Like three floors. It had reinforced walls, security measures, that sort of thing.”

“But it was in a multi-tenant building, no?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m curious, actually,” Octopus said, “look, I was never a part of Outer Heaven, so this is all from an outsider’s perspective, but - I’ve heard a lot about what it was like under Venom Snake, but not under Big Boss. What was _that_ like?”

Nocturne shrugged. “It got pretty intense,” she said. “New Boss was a lot more, uh, cavalier about civilian casualties. Child soldiers, too. We always had a lot of war zone kids around, and since they did mechanics work and cleaning and stuff for us, I think they _technically_ qualified as child soldiers already for tangentially participating in military activities, but—“

“But what?” Wolf said, “we did free labor as part of our upkeep and education. You know I had many friends who left Outer Heaven when they turned eighteen so they could go be vehicle mechanics in a civilian capacity, since they already were good at it.”

“Wolf, don’t kid yourself about having friends when you were a kid. I remember what you were like at sixteen. _Anyway_ , old Boss made sure to keep kids off the battlefield, new Boss was completely fine with them being there if they ‘chose’ to.”

“And you were fine with that too?” Octopus said.

“No! Well… no, not really.” Nocturne looked away. “Hey, it wasn’t like it happened overnight. It’s like the ‘boil the frog’ thing - Boss just pushed the boundaries of what we thought was acceptable over and over until one day we realize we’re supposed to be fighting alongside someone who should be in middle school, not Kilinochchi. By that point it’s too late to resign in protest or anything, so you just try to watch the kids’ backs and hope you don’t happen to ‘rescue’ any more.”

“How terrible,” Wolf said, baring her teeth. “Saladin must have been rolling in his grave!”

“I guess so… Outer Heaven in 1999 was almost completely unrecognizable compared to Outer Heaven in 1995. Again, we lost a ton of people. Even Pequod left…”

“Really?” Wolf said, surprised. “Pequod did? Just left?”

Nocturne nodded. “It was actually pretty sad,” she said.

“It must have been, he and Saladin were so close!”

“Poor guy was hit really hard, but wanted to keep going with the new Boss in honor of his memory,” Nocturne said, “but things were just too different for him. I heard he actually burst into tears when the Boss took all of the old photos off the walls of the ACC.”

“No!”

“Um, the what?” Octopus said. He was ignored.

“We had to actually go and _convince_ him to retire before he threw himself off the side of the platform,” Nocturne said, cracking her knuckles absent-mindedly, “that was definitely a going-away party to remember. There was even some talk about passing around a collection to buy Pequod’s chopper from Outer Heaven for him, but it ended up falling through or something.”

“Do you know what he is up to nowadays?” Wolf asked.

“Oh, not for sure. I wasn’t one of the people he kept in touch with, and I didn’t go out of my way to ask after him either. I remember a couple rumors, but… well, they were everything from him settling down and living a normal boring civilian life, to becoming an independent mercenary who died in some awesome aerial shootout, to getting a sex change and marrying the CEO of an airline in South America.”

“…right. What was passed around the most, though?”

Nocturne shrugged. “Supposedly he moved to America and kept flying helicopters, just in a civilian application. I don’t remember if he taught others how to fly, or if he worked for the police or a news station, or if he flew rich tourists around, though. But I _think_ he moved to Florida and has a family now.”

“Sounds like he’s happy, though,” Octopus interjected. “Good for him.”

“I hope he is,” Wolf said fervently.

Nocturne rolled her eyes. “I don’t care either way. It’s not my business if he couldn’t handle the new regime. He-“

“Don’t you dare call him a deserter.”

“If the shoe fits,” Nocturne sneered. “At any rate, that just goes to show why you should never let yourself get attached to your comrades.”

“Doesn’t seem like much of a challenge for you,” Octopus said dryly.

“Yeah, well, if your team wasn’t such a free love hugbox then it wouldn’t have mattered that I shot your skinny ‘friend’. You could just cut your losses and move on with your life—“ she smirked. “Instead your whole insurrection is in jeopardy.”

Wolf threw up her hands and stalked out onto the balcony to wait for Liquid, without another word. Octopus shot Nocturne a glare, but didn’t continue the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted Pequod to get a happy ending ;____;


	75. Fanart 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drawn by the incredible [soulfulquail](http://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulquail)! ([tumblr link](https://soulfulquail.tumblr.com/post/168678467472/a-quick-lil-sketch-thing-based-oninspired-by-a)) Based on chapter 66 of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_. Amazing!

  



	76. Love Is a Crime (Comic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based pretty much word-for-word off a comment left by hingabee on chapter 68 of the original _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ , or something like that.

  
  



	77. Fanart 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFM render created by [Brambora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambora) for chapter 69 (nice) of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_.


	78. Fanart 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brambora wasn't happy with the previous chapter, so she created another SFM render for chapter 69 of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ , plus a bonus.


	79. Fanart 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW**
> 
> One more SFM render from Brambora!!


	80. Fanart 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee) drew a cute little Bogomol for me... and it's a mystery whose hand that is uwu


	81. Character portraits 6




	82. Diamond Dogs 2




	83. Memes 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ chapter 56 onwards, particularly chapter 69 onwards.

  
(h/t hingabee)

  
(h/t hingabee again)

  
(h/t hingabee once again) ("fucky Mantis" = post-chapter 68 amnesic Mantis)

  
(h/t hingabee) (made in reference to [an entirely different fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882129) but still fits for White Diamond)

  
(h/t Brambora)


	84. My Twin Brother Can't Be This Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-"canon" hypothetical outtake in which Mantis recruits Solid to revenge cuck Liquid and things get ever-so-slightly out of hand.  
> Requested by multiple people, but hingabee was the one who kept pestering me about it and gave me a bunch of ideas for it. (She only wanted Solidmantis though I just went and made it all degenerate on my own)
> 
> Explicit - slight dubcon  
> W/C 4,495

2005, Twin Lakes. Solid’s cabin.

Somehow the subject of Ocelot came up and Mantis just _had_ to make a dig about Liquid cheating on him and an argument erupted. It got heated, so they’d switched to Kikongo (since neither Solid nor Solidus spoke it), and Liquid ended up pacing the room in extreme agitation while Mantis’ comments got increasingly pointed and cruel. In other words, the usual pattern.

“It’s not even a big deal,” Liquid snapped. “This happens so often we should just consider it part of our usual arrangement, I mean for God’s sake we had a threesome with-“

“I _don’t_ want him touching you, I thought I have made myself _very_ clear,” Mantis said icily.

Liquid rolled his eyes. “You always make it out like it’s a problem with _Ocelot_.”

“Eli.”

“So what, it’d be alright if I went off and fucked someone who _wasn’t_ Ocelot?!”

Mantis scoffed. “No, of course not. I do not like to share, you know that. And besides, the _principle_ of the-“

“Because _I_ wouldn’t mind if _you_ fucked someone who wasn’t me.”

Mantis didn’t reply immediately and opted to just stare at Liquid. Liquid had said that _entirely_ impulsively and very insincerely, just kicking against the pricks and saying things he didn’t mean, already adding conditionals to that statement in his mind: _If it were someone I approved of, if I got to watch, if I got to sleep with them too, if it gave me a free pass to…_

Mantis narrowed his eyes and dug in. “Really? Because I have someone in mind, if that is how you really feel.”

“Oh- oh, really?” Threw poor Liquid for a loop. Mantis felt mean.

“It is only fair, isn’t it? You have _cheated on me_ so many times that that if I want to fool around with someone else just once, you don’t have a right to protest anyway, do you?”

“I- I—“

Oh, now Liquid _really_ didn’t like where this was going, but he’d started this mess. Blood in the water and all that. Mantis circled around him. His last statement had made Liquid wonder if this was something - assuming Mantis was serious - Mantis would do regardless of Liquid’s feelings on it…? “Oh, please, I am not like you. I would never just go do this behind your back.”

“I… ah…”

“I just think that, in the interests of fairness,” Mantis grabbed Liquid’s collar and pulled him to stand in front of him, “you really should just shut up and let me do as I want.”

Liquid flushed. “You’re bluffing.”

“So are you.”

“N-No I’m— I don’t- I don’t _care_ , so long as _I’m_ still your favorite and all…” Liquid shrunk away from Mantis, suddenly insecure and slightly hindered by the way Mantis was still holding his collar.

Mantis tugged him closer again. “Of course _you’d_ still be my favorite, despite your… indiscretions with the old man,” he said sweetly, “I just think I’d feel a bit better about these indiscretions if I could go blow off some steam about them with someone other than you.”

“What’s wrong with _me?!_ ”

“Oh, _now_ you have a problem with it?”

“No,” Liquid whined. “S-Stop teasing me like this. Come on, we both know there isn’t anyone you’d be willing to fuck anyway, no matter how much you want to revenge-cuckold me…!”

Mantis smirked behind his mask. Of course he’d gone into that conversation with a coup de grâce already in mind…

“Oh,” he said, “but isn’t there?”

…

As near as Solid could tell this had started with Liquid and Mantis bitching at each other about something and leading to them mutually bluffing about NTR being acceptable for some reason and now they were both trying to call each other’s bluff without letting on that they, too, were bluffing. (Solid would have thought that Mantis being psychic would preclude this kind of bullshit, but he’d come to the realization some time ago that Mantis was kind of dense and too high-strung for his own good.) It was either that or Mantis’ odd fascination with Solid had mutated into sexual attraction - or else he thought of Solid as being basically like his weird boyfriend but more capable of dicking him down, since Solid kinda doubted based off what he’d overhead nightly that Liquid could be sexually dominant to save his life. However, Mantis did not explain his exact logic.

What he _did_ do was confront Solid on his attraction to Liquid and offer him a deal.

And Solid, who frequently thought with his dick, accepted the deal quite stupidly, which lead him to this… interesting… situation. Namely, sitting on Liquid and Mantis’ borrowed bed with Mantis undressing in front of him and Liquid (only partially clothed) tied to a chair nearby.

That was the deal. Solid had to fuck Mantis in Liquid’s presence… and in exchange, he’d get access to Liquid. Solid wasn’t entirely sure if Mantis had meant he’d be able to go for round two with his brother, or if his prize was the piece of advice about Liquid that Mantis gave him (that Liquid liked being pushed around, but feeling outright threatened was “a turn-off, shall we say”) that might allow him to seduce him on his own later.

“Remember, Eli,” Mantis said smoothly, like the tension in the room wasn’t killing all three of them, “you can’t look away.”

Liquid grumbled. “Of all people…”

Mantis chuckled. It sounded way too malicious to Solid to have any place in a healthy relationship, but Liquid and Mantis really didn’t have that, did they?

“I wouldn’t worry about if I should happen to like Snake more than you,” Mantis crowed at him, “after all, at least _you_ have some experience.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Solid said irritably.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Mantis turned his mockery to Solid. “You were always too afraid to get close to someone to get past second base. You are only doing this because you realize it might very well be your only chance to lose your virginity before- ack.”

Quickly fed up with Mantis’ chatter, Solid had grabbed him by the filter and yanked him towards him. Liquid jerked in his chair. He seemed wary of this whole thing.

“That isn’t going to work on me,” Solid said, “I don’t care if you’re into insulting Liquid, but I’m not a fan of that kind of thing.”

“Mmph.”

“What’s the matter, brother, insecure?” Liquid said, taking up the mantle, but before Solid could reply he was muttering to himself: “Oh god, I really shouldn’t be calling him ‘brother’ in _this_ kind of situation, should I…”

Solid rolled his eyes. If Liquid wanted to get hung up on the whole _incest_ thing, that didn’t matter to him, he’d still figure out a way around that… it wasn’t like they grew up together. It was just a weird hang-up, not an actual psychological obstacle.

“What are you waiting for?” Mantis interrupted his thoughts.

“Hrn.” Solid glanced around, a little awkwardly. Despite the way he’d cut off Mantis a moment ago, the man did have a point - Solid was inexperienced and had in fact never made it past second base with anyone, male or female. Pretty much everything he knew came from raunchy locker room talk or porn, and when it came to porn Solid preferred still images in magazines, which left out all of the nitty-gritty details. In other words, he had no idea how to start this.

Mantis’ eyes narrowed behind his mask. For a second Solid thought he was going to make fun of him again, but - maybe because Liquid was watching and Mantis was trying to prove some kind of point - instead Mantis flicked his wrist and summoned a bottle of lube from nearby, dripping some over his own fingers and reaching down to stick them in his ass. He laid on his back to do it, making a performative “ _Mm_ ” and turning his head towards Liquid, who jerked in his chair again.

“Wh—“ Liquid seemed upset, “y-you never do that for _me!_ ”

“Oh, hush,” Mantis hissed, “know your place, Eli.”

“I-! Ah, f-fuck…”

Despite his indignance, Liquid was definitely, visibly getting wound up at the display. He was squirming on the chair, biting his lip, the front of his pants starting to tent, eyes glued to Mantis — he seemed to have entirely forgotten Solid was even in the room. Solid spared a glance at Mantis. …yeah, he really didn’t see what Liquid saw in him. All gangly and skinny, unhealthily pale, huge ugly scars everywhere - the bright red pubic hair was a bit of a surprise. Maybe Solid would find him a bit more attractive if he wasn’t bald. …nah.

But it didn’t matter that looking at Mantis did absolutely nothing for Solid. It wasn’t Mantis he was here for. It was _Liquid_ , and watching Liquid slowly go nuts tied to a chair was _definitely_ turning Solid on. He could rail Mantis until dawn as long as he could keep watching Liquid struggle with his own arousal.

Mantis made a little “tch” sound, pulling his fingers out. Solid was pushed forward by an invisible hand on his back. “Come on then, Snake.”

“Wh-why did I agree to this?” Liquid said with a little sob.

“No going back now…”

“…” Solid was really starting to feel awkward. It was always uncomfortable watching a couple argue, right? Especially when you somehow felt like you had to take a side; honestly, Solid would have gladly joined in on bullying Liquid, but he figured if he did that then the man wouldn’t be very receptive later. Meanwhile if he stuck up for Liquid, Mantis might call this whole thing off. Solid had no doubts about who was _really_ in charge here… “…right.”

“You bastard,” Liquid spat at him.

“Cuck,” Mantis fired back without missing a beat. Solid stifled a laugh.

He grabbed Mantis and flipped him over with virtually no resistance aside from a startled squawk. Liquid whined. “Be _careful_ with him-!”

“Eli, shut up,” Mantis groaned.

“I’m sure he can take it,” Solid said, pulling Mantis back against him, watching Liquid’s face. Liquid looked horrified, furious, jealous- and humiliated and faint with arousal. Hot. Hot enough to spur Solid on to line up against Mantis; Mantis pushed back against him himself, making a weird high-pitched keening noise as Solid’s dick went into his unbearably tight asshole. “Uh. Have _you_ ever done this before?”

“Nnh… not, ah, from this end…”

“Oh.”

Liquid hung his head. “B-But _I_ wanted to be your first…”

“Too bad,” Mantis said breathily. Solid wasn’t sure if he should move or not. “Seems your brother was the more capable one in the end.”

“C…Capable…?” Liquid sounded like he was about to cry.

Mantis ignored him. Ouch. “Come on, Snake,” he said again, pushing back against him again, “fuck me!”

Solid didn’t need to be told twice for _that_. His instincts could take over from here. He pulled out partway, then slammed back into Mantis - Mantis squeaked, clutching the bedspread - he pumped into him (trying not to go _too_ hard), keeping his eyes fixed on Liquid. Liquid didn’t seem to notice him staring, since he was too busy watching Mantis get fucked with betrayal in his eyes (though he’d agreed to this…) and an erection straining against his pants. His face was red and he really did look like he might burst into tears.

Mantis made little huffing noises underneath Solid, tiny groans, as things got heavy enough for Solid to start panting. Liquid moaned, squirming in his chair again. Solid wondered what kind of knot Mantis had used that actually prevented Liquid from freeing himself — or was Liquid staying put on purpose, _that_ committed to the game? Did he really just do _everything_ Mantis told him to during sex? Shit, maybe Solid’s initial assumption about round two was correct - Mantis would just _order_ it whether Liquid really wanted it or not.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, Solid became aware that he was unconsciously thrusting harder into Mantis just thinking about it.)

“Fuck…” Mantis rasped beneath him in Russian, “shit, Snake, you… so big… god, destroy me…”

“Wh-what?” Liquid said nervously, “what are you s-saying?” Oh, right, he didn’t speak Russian. “Snake, what is he— a-a-are you st-staring at me? Have y-you been staring me this whole t-time?!”

“Hm?” Solid blinked. Mantis was still cursing in Russian. Liquid was struggling against his ties, mortified. “What?”

“Y-You’d better not be talking a-about me!”

“Uh. No.”

“Mm, why doesn’t Eli ever do this,” Mantis mumbled.

“I h-heard my name!!” Liquid snapped.

“Snake…”

Liquid groaned, looking away. Mantis glanced over at him. Something invisible tugged Liquid’s collar until he was forced to watch them again, gasping.

“Hnngh… I’m close…” Solid grunted, nails digging into Mantis’ hips. Mantis’ back arched. “I should… pull out, right…?”

“D-Don’t you _dare_ finish i-inside him!” Liquid shrieked.

“Shut _up_ ,” Mantis groaned, “Solidus will hear.”

“Mantis,” Solid said.

“Gah… yes, fine, pull out…”

Solid did so as Mantis reached down himself, stroking his own cock as Solid finished himself off all over his scrawny ass and lower back. Liquid made a choked noise. Again Solid looked over. Poor Liquid was so fucked up he was practically humping the air to the best of his currently limited ability, tears streaming down his face.

“Ah… Sna-aa _ake-_ —” Mantis orgasmed messily on the bedspread, face turned towards Liquid, with Solid still clutching one of his hips. He noisily caught his breath. “…ha… Eli…”

Liquid let out a sob, and bit his lip.

Slowly Mantis sat up - Solid backed off a bit, again unsure of what he was planning and what Solid should do about it — Mantis clambered off the bed and stumbled over to Liquid, clearly weak-kneed and woozy. Apparently Solid had pretty much wrecked him, though it wasn’t like he’d been trying to. Mantis circled around behind Liquid and practically collapsed onto his shoulders, looping his arms around him from behind and absently running his fingers under his collar.

“That was good,” Mantis murmured, pressing the filter of his gas mask tiredly against Liquid’s cheek. “Your brother has an amazing cock, Eli.”

“…” Liquid, meanwhile, was feeling probably every conceivable emotion at once. Watching his brother fuck Mantis in the ass - _something he’d never been allowed to do himself_ \- had absolutely destroyed him, but in equal measure every moment of it had gone straight to his dick, and by now he was desperate. Mantis leaning over him again and playing with his collar wasn’t helping… Solid was still staring at him, with an odd look smoldering in his eyes. Liquid didn’t know how to feel anymore. “M-Mantis…?”

“I have something to confess, Eli.”

“…wh…?”

“I could not convince Snake to do this on my own merits… I had to bribe him. And the price was… you.”

Liquid’s eyes snapped back to Solid. Solid gave a sheepish little cough, avoiding eye contact.

Mantis’ fingers under his collar drew Liquid’s attention back. “Of course,” he said, wiping his tears, “I did not promise him anything. Just that you would be here. If you don’t want him to touch you, then he will not… even if he tried, I would not allow it…”

“W-We’re _brothers_ ,” Liquid stammered, eyes wide, “we- we’re family, f-family doesn’t _do_ that s-sort of-!”

“Mmm. Still, just watching that made you unbearably aroused, no…?”

“I— th-that wasn’t because of _him_ , Mantis, y-you—“

“Snake, come over here, won’t you?” Mantis said. Without saying a word, Solid got up off the bed and approached Liquid. Liquid shrunk in his chair, bewildered and overwhelmed. “I’m too tired to take care of that for you, Eli, and you already know you can’t do it yourself. So… why not let Snake lend you a hand? He has _my_ permission. All he needs now is _yours_.”

Liquid fell silent. He didn’t want to give Solid his consent to do anything, but by the same token he didn’t want to turn him away. He didn’t want to do _anything_ , because doing anything would mean taking responsibility for whatever happened next. He didn’t _want_ to be _responsible_ for any acts of incest but also _god_ he needed to get off, he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t, and even aside from that, well, his brother was a pretty attractive man even if he hated him personally and even if watching him fuck Mantis had been essentially all his deepest insecurities coming to life and he’d probably start sobbing over it again once he was gone, it had been _unbelievably_ sexually powerful and Liquid was _aching_ to get a taste of that. So, he was paralyzed by indecision, and wanted to leave the decision to Mantis- wanted Mantis to just order him to let Solid-—

“Ah ah, Eli,” Mantis tugged lazily on his collar, “I am an entirely passive party now. I won’t order you to do anything. You have to make your own decision.”

Liquid rubbed his legs together, grimacing. “I… I… Snake…”

“…I guess if you don’t want to, then,” Solid grumbled at length.

“N-No, I…” Liquid looked away, humiliated. “You can… b-b-brother… erm… g-go ahead.”

Since he was looking away, he didn’t see Solid’s expression, and for a moment it almost seemed like nothing would happen, but then he felt Solid pull down his pants and he couldn’t prevent a groan of relief from escaping his throat. Mantis stayed exactly where he was, loosely hugging Liquid from behind the chair as Solid, now kneeling in front of Liquid, ran his fingers up Liquid’s erection with equal parts curiosity and reverence.

“You wanted this from the moment you saw him, didn’t you?” Mantis said to Solid in a vaguely chiding tone. “You wanted _him_.”

“He’s… good-looking.” Solid spoke as if Liquid wasn’t there, as if Liquid’s dick wasn’t in his hand. “And the collar didn’t help.”

“Ha. You think it’s hot?”

“It is.”

Liquid whined, bucking his hips. “S-Snake…!”

“Alright, alright,” Solid said, wetting his lips and then ducking down over Liquid’s cock. It was immediately obvious that everything he knew about blowjobs came from porn - or, if ‘second base’ was defined as oral, Solid hadn’t been very good at it - but Liquid had never really received one before, only very short ones from Ocelot, never to completion or really longer than thirty seconds, just meant to throw him off guard— Mantis tugged on his collar while Solid wasn’t looking. Liquid mewled.

“He is not used to this kind of treatment, you know,” Mantis spoke over Liquid, “be careful not to spoil him.”

“Snake, oh g-god,” Liquid whimpered, bucking his hips again, catching the soft inside of Solid’s cheek. “I c-can’t… I can’t take v-very much of this, nnh, p-please…”

“You are free to let go whenever you need to, Eli,” Mantis whispered.

“Ah…! Snake, S- _Snake_ , I’m g-going to—!”

Liquid spilled into Solid’s mouth. Solid seemed marginally surprised but didn’t withdraw, instead taking it all and staying put when Liquid thrust against his lips. Liquid, panting, settled back against the chair again, wrists and ankles sore where they were tied… Mantis chuckled a little. Solid rose to his feet, leaned over Liquid - and kissed him, forcing his tongue into his mouth.

“?!”

“Mmm.”

Solid licked his lips as he drew back. Liquid could taste himself on him, and was sure that at this rate he was absolutely going to have an anxiety attack.

“You taste like me,” Solid said in a low voice.

“A-Ah… ha…”

“God… I don’t know what it is, but you drive me crazy…”

“Genetic Sexual Attraction,” Mantis said lazily, nuzzling Liquid again, “it happens sometimes between close blood relatives who meet for the first time as adults.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“Mnn… th-that… felt good, though…” Liquid mumbled, dazed.

Liquid had been so wound up that it had taken Solid hardly any time at all to suck him off to completion, but even then, by now Solid was hard again and ready for round two. Liquid still felt a bit foggy from that unusually powerful orgasm - and Mantis’ comforting presence at his back was helping to keep him calmer than he was sure he’d be feeling otherwise — he hardly noticed Solid ducking back down to untie his legs, or Mantis untieing his aching arms. It hardly registered with him when Solid helped him stand up and lead him over to the bed, lying him down on it next to where Mantis’ semen was slowly drying on the sheets.

“…brother…” Liquid settled back in them, eyes heavy. He had no idea how Solid still had this much energy. Maybe it was just the psychological high of losing his virginity and getting to suck the dick of someone he’d apparently been lusting after for months. “…Mantis…?”

“I am right here,” Mantis said, joining Solid and Liquid on the bed (the mattress creaked underneath them). Mantis sat up by Liquid’s head, cradling it in his lap and petting his hair; Solid finished undressing Liquid and set himself between his legs. Liquid let out a pathetic little whimper as Solid ran his hands over his sensitive body.

“Mantis, where did you put that lube?” Solid said.

“Over there.”

“Hm.”

Liquid passively listened to them talk, and watched Solid move, exhausted. The way Mantis was threading his fingers through his hair was quickly lulling him to sleep, so he didn’t really mind whatever it was Solid was doing…

That changed when he felt Solid’s slicked fingers probe his ass. Liquid tensed, raising his arms defensively. “W-Wait…!”

“What?” Solid said, as Mantis pressed down on Liquid’s shoulders, keeping him from sitting up.

“Are… are you going to fuck me…?!”

“…yes?”

“Eli, calm down,” Mantis cooed to him.

“N-No!” Liquid threw off Mantis and sat up, frantic, scooting away from Solid. “I-I mean, I can’t… no… n-not with you. I… I c-can’t.”

And now the hang-up emerged. “We don’t have to do it that way,” Solid said awkwardly.

“Nnn…”

Liquid glanced at Mantis, clearly seeking reassurance, and Mantis shushed him, getting him to lie back down with his head in his lap again. Solid, watching this, at this point really had to admit that Liquid was kind of adorable when he was all uncertain, docile, and submissive. Really explained what Mantis saw in him. Solid still wasn’t sure what Liquid saw in Mantis, but different strokes for different folks, he supposed.

Weirdo.

Satisfied that Liquid wouldn’t try to resist again, Solid pulled back and instead started grinding against Liquid’s body. Frottage was fine too. Especially since Liquid gasped and writhed underneath him, evidently overwhelmed again.

Though he’d ejaculated just a few minutes ago, Liquid’s refractory period was no match for getting humped by his brother, and he quickly started to get hard again despite his repeated whines of apparent pain. And the way he hooked his legs around Solid’s waist, and clutched onto him with his hands at his shoulders. And accepted his sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that still tasted like Liquid’s semen.

“Liquid…”

“A-Ah—nnh-! _Snake—!!_ ”

Liquid was exactly as vocal with Solid as he was with Mantis, and exactly as clingy as Solid imagined; Liquid pushed his hips up against Solid, panting. Solid was getting close again - this was hotter than he could have hoped for, being able to rub himself up against Liquid, and use his body to get off…

“L- Liquid!” Solid orgasmed again, against his brother’s lower stomach. Liquid let out a high whine at the feeling. Solid was nice enough to keep rutting against him until Liquid finished, too - once Mantis spoke up again, giving Liquid permission to cum. Liquid really took that whole thing seriously, didn’t he?

Solid pulled off of Liquid, his lungs burning. If he thought Liquid looked out of it before, he was on a whole different plane of existence now.

“Good boy, Eli,” Mantis was murmuring to him, “behaving so well for your brother…”

“We should do that again sometime,” Solid said without thinking.

“Hm.” Mantis only barely glanced up at him. “I will think about it. Leave us now.”

Solid snorted. “Fine, I need a shower anyway. …uh, good night. See you two in the morning.”

“…night, brother,” Liquid mumbled, eyelids fluttering.

There was a long pause as Solid left the room. Eventually, Mantis spoke. “Thoughts, Eli?”

“…what’s that I feel that’s been… poking the back of my head for twenty minutes now…?”

“Ah… erm.”

“You got hard from watching that, didn’t you?”

“I… it… would seem I did.”

Liquid laughed breathily. “You made fun of me for that. …no, you’re worse… that was my _brother_ , Mantis.”

“Hn.” Mantis slipped out from beneath Liquid. “Are you alright?”

“…”

He pet Liquid’s face. “You know I still prefer you to your brother.”

“…do you…?”

“Mm. You are my favorite, Eli - you will always be my favorite.”

“…good.” Liquid nuzzled Mantis’ palm. “That was just… fooling around.”

“Mhm. Snake is… interesting, but… _you_ are _mine_. Much better.”

“I love you,” Liquid breathed, pulling himself closer. Mantis sighed affectionately and laid down next to him, cleaning them both up with a wave of his hand and draping a blanket over him. Liquid put a hand on his waist. “Wait.”

“Hm?”

“I can still feel you poking me,” Liquid said with a sleepy smile.

“…”

“Ah. It’s alright, Mantis… only,” he yawned, “I’m too tired to do anything about that, I’m sorry, love…”

“That… is fine, Eli.” Mantis looked away, embarrassed. “I can… deal with it myself.”

“Let me watch.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Nngh. Fussy,” Liquid murmured, closing his eyes. “Well… even if I’m asleep, you can still use my body however you want, Mantis.”

“Eli. Go to _sleep_.”

“Mmmm.”

Liquid did just that, though, leaving Mantis alone and rather humiliated by his own body’s reaction to watching his lover have sex with someone else. He hadn’t thought that would happen, after all he still remembered that stupid threesome with Ocelot… but then again, that had been under very different circumstances, with very different emotions involved, and admittedly the biggest factor had probably been Mantis being totally unused to sex at that point in his life even if it was routine now.

Yes. That routine that needy, whiny Liquid had pushed on him was _exactly_ what was to blame for his boner now. Obviously. So he could say it was all Liquid’s fault, even though the man was asleep, as he returned his hand to his crotch, rubbing at himself, pushing himself a little closer to Liquid’s warm body.

The door opened again. Mantis jumped.

“Uh,” Solid said awkwardly, “just grabbing my clothes.”

“…”

“…listen. Whatever it is you’re doing under there, I’m going to assume it’s completely normal in your relationship, and not pry.”

“That is fair,” Mantis said, flushing.

“Anyway, good night.”

“Good _night_ , Snake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solid's a basic bitch for not thinking Mantis is hot smh


	85. Paradise Lost Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and affiliate.
> 
> Posting this before all of them are technically introduced/mentioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah that is in fact the OC I submitted for the Wintergames a couple months ago, that's why her portrait looks different (higher quality...) than everyone else's.
> 
> Also Charlie is NOT Pequod ffs


	86. Memes 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ chapters 68 and 69.

  
(h/t Brambora) (fucking rude )

  
(h/t hingabee)

  
(h/t hingabee)


	87. Fanart 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again my lovely [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee) draws me some cute Bogomols =w=


	88. Damsel In Distress (Comic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for FeetGround chapter 72

  
  
  
  
  
  



	89. Kaksi Typerystä

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene cut from _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ chapter 80 for being out of place and leading towards an ending that's also been cut. tl;dr aireyv has a Dostoyevsky moment and we all have a nice discussion about God
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 1,196

Liquid was easily bored, insatiably curious, and loved being the center of attention, so he actually spent most of the day socializing with the PLA staff — they liked him by default because he was EVA’s son (and a few of them might have pitied him some over the missing arm thing), and he hadn’t yet done anything to turn any of them off of him more than “Eh, he can be pretty abrasive.” Of course he spent a lot of time with Mantis as well, but Mantis had been getting increasingly frequent with requests for space, so Liquid obliged.

But Liquid understood the importance of sticking to a regular sleep schedule wherever possible. That wasn’t to say he did that, necessarily, but having EVA around… Liquid usually went skulking back to his and Mantis’ room sometime between eleven and midnight, and of course he always found Mantis there. Usually he found Mantis lying in the dark. Liquid knew he wasn’t feeling well, but didn’t let on; he suspected that Mantis didn’t bring it up for a reason.

“Hello again,” Liquid said, flopping onto the bed next to Mantis. He spoke cheerfully but kept his voice low in case loud(ish) noises bothered Mantis. “I had an interesting afternoon. Some of Mother’s men showed me this old film, I think it was called _Atentát_. A World War Two movie, it seemed good but I couldn’t understand a word of it.”

“Hm.” Mantis shifted towards Liquid, resting his head on his chest.

“Sorry. Don’t feel like talking?”

“No, it’s alright,” Mantis said. “Go on.”

“Well, I don’t want to just monologue at you.”

“Ah… then, ask me something?”

“Erm.” Liquid paused for a moment, then put his hand on Mantis’ shoulder. “Is it alright if I ask about when you were… gone? It’s not anything important, I’m just curious, if you’re not comfortable with…”

“It’s alright,” Mantis said again, yawning. “I really… do not remember most of it.”

“Right… anyway… they kept you in a basement or something somewhere in Provo, no?”

“Mm.”

“And that’s where the Mormon church has its school thing for their missionaries… well, I don’t know what exactly they do there, but I heard somewhere that they have this wild language program where 19-year-olds learn a new language in just a few weeks, faster than the US Army does it.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Mantis said. “I remember I heard a lot of things in so many different languages from all around the world… I could not understand most of it…”

“You didn’t pick up any of it?”

“Maybe… I don’t know.”

“Try saying something?” Liquid said brightly. “I know, how about… Finnish. That seems like the kind of language you won’t hear anywhere _else_ in Provo.

“Eli, I did not understand any of it. Even if I said something, I wouldn’t know what it meant.”

“Oh, come on. Try it.”

Mantis took a deep breath. “Minä tiedän, että Joseph Smith on profeetta ja että Mormonin kirja on totta,” he mumbled. “Sitten Jeesus ja Jumala ilmestyivät Joseph Smithille ja kertoivat hänelle että heillä oli suunnitelma häntä varten—“

Liquid interrupted with a grimace. “Niin joo ymärrän, saat lakata puhumasta nyt, sun aksentti on tosi huomo... ja kun sä puhut Jumalasta tai Jeesuksesta, ä kuulostaa naurettavalle…”

“Eli.” Mantis tapped him on the chest. “I have no idea what either of us just said.”

“Ah…” Liquid pulled Mantis closer. “Sorry. I was just saying you sounded ridiculous, talking like that. God and Jesus… you don’t even believe in God.”

Mantis hid his face against him, the filter of his gas mask poking unpleasantly into his ribs. “Don’t I?”

“Hm?”

“The natural world is so orderly, it seems illogical to me to think it all arose by accident. I don’t find it implausible that there’s some sort of… higher power, or divine being, or intelligent creator.”

“Oh? I never knew you thought that. Don’t think you’ve ever been to church a day in your life, have you?”

Mantis drew away from Liquid and sat up. Liquid stared up at him, blinking in surprise. “No,” Mantis said, “of course I haven’t. Those sorts of people I can’t stand. Talking about a kind and loving God who blesses people… I think nature is ordered purposefully, and therefore God exists, but I don’t believe that God cares about us.”

“Oh.”

There was a short pause. Liquid sat up too - Mantis didn’t pull away again when he put his hand on his leg. Liquid couldn’t help but glance over at the wall — though the church basement was currently used as headquarters for a PMC, it still retained a few decorations and embellishments from its days in genuine religious service. In other words, there was a plain wooden cross hanging on the wall that no one had bothered removing this whole time.

“That’s sort of sad,” Liquid said eventually. “To believe that. I think it’d be better to believe that God just doesn’t exist.”

“Maybe it would be… I do not know. I just know what I feel.” He leaned against Liquid again. “Maybe God does like some people, but I’m certain He doesn’t like me. So I would never waste my time on religion.”

Liquid sighed. “I wish I could say I think you’re wrong…”

“…do you believe in God?”

“Does it matter?” Liquid shook his head. “You say He exists, and that He hates us; others say He exists and he loves us; still others say He doesn’t exist at all. But what’s that got to do with me? …regardless of whether or not God exists, I’m not one of His creations. So it’s irrelevant to me.”

“So you have not thought about it.”

“Waste of my time. Maybe I could come to the conclusion that He’s out there, but I’ve suffered so much misfortune because He’s punishing me for existing despite not being one of His creations…” he trailed off.

He couldn’t remember how long ago he started thinking this way. He did remember, over a decade ago, someone telling him with no doubt in his eyes that he was a human being and, certainly, a creation of God. He remembered disagreeing on both counts even back then.

He’d kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to contradict…—

“Anyway,” Liquid said, shaking himself, “what would be the point of assigning blame? It’s not like you can take revenge on _God_.”

“I wonder…”

Liquid cracked a smile. “Certainly not in this life.”

“True. We would have to die first.”

“Everyone dies eventually. Perhaps we should make that our long-term plan?”

“I thought death was supposed to be a rest from… everything in life.”

“So I hear. But that sounds _terribly_ boring.” He laid back down, taking Mantis with him. “Well anyway, if you didn’t learn any language, did you learn _anything_ interesting?”

“Hm… I might remember some more of those strange Biblical stories you seem interested in…”

“Oh?”

“Yes… there was one that I think you would particularly like. A general or something, named Helaman, who commanded two thousand child soldiers who all referred to him as their father in the end…”

Liquid laughed. “Oh,” he said, “that _is_ interesting…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language credit goes to my older brother [JanewayDroideka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanewayDroideka), who served a mission in Finland, so I just asked him to gimme something that you'd learn how to say in the MTC. I have the exact translations if anyone needs them.
> 
> I picked the movie _Atentát_ (1964) randomly after looking up popular Czech movies, and was surprised to see when I looked up the synopsis on Wikipedia that it’s about Operation Anthropoid… the assassination Reinhard Heydrich. I thought it was interesting, because in direct retaliation for that, the Nazis wiped out the village my great-grandfather was from…
> 
> also the two thousand stripling warriors COULD have all been over 18 but come on, does anyone really think that’s likely


	90. The Least Surprising Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hingabee requested a post-chapter 71/72 confrontation between Solid and Otacon re: Solid coming on to Liquid in 2005.  
> Here it is, then.
> 
> Teen And Up Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 481

June 2007, a motel room outside of Indianapolis. After dropping off Liquid and Mantis.

“Okay, here’s the safehouse address,” Otacon said, pulling it up. “It’s a long drive, though.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Solid said. He was foul-temperedly sucking on an unlit cigarette; the motel had no non-smoking rooms but that was no match for Otacon. Solid would have to wait until he fell asleep to light up.

There was a long pause. Otacon turned on the TV, flicked through a few uninteresting channels, and then turned it back off.

At length he said, “seriously, Snake, what the hell?”

“What?”

“About Liquid.”

“Are you still thinking about that?”

Otacon gave him an incredulous look. “You tried to have sex with your brother. Did you think I was going to just _forget_ that?”

“Give me a break,” Solid sighed, “that was two years ago and it’s not like I even see him as family… we didn’t grow up together or anything.”

“Yeah, but he’s still related to you. Like, very directly related to you. And you knew that.”

“Can we just drop this?”

“He’s your _twin!_ ”

“I know,” Solid said, irritated, “and anyway, what did _you_ mean by ‘I don’t have the right to judge’?”

Otacon sputtered. “What? What did you think I meant?”

“I don’t know, Otacon. Wolf did tell me that you have a sister.”

“Wh- she’s eleven years younger than me! And I haven’t talked to her in _years_ , anyway.”

Solid raised an eyebrow. “Okay…?”

“It’s not like you and Liquid anyway, she’s my _step_ -sister technically.”

“……”

“Also _I_ never tried to fuck my sibling!”

“It happened _once_ ,” Solid said, going red. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s none of your business,” Otacon said hotly.

“What the hell did you _do_ that’s worse than incest?”

“I didn’t say it was something _worse_ , and- what, would you rather I _did_ judge you for this??”

“You kind of are,” Solid said, “besides, what happened in my cabin back then isn’t any of _your_ business either, but—“

“It’s not like I _asked_ to hear about it.”

“Blame Liquid then, not me. You don’t even know all the details…”

“What details?” Otacon threw his hands up. “You think your biological brother is hot!”

“Urgh…”

“I mean, you’re not _wrong_ per se but you’re still—“

“You think Liquid is hot?” Solid interrupted.

Otacon opened and closed his mouth silently for a moment before suddenly getting all sheepish and saying, “well, yeah.”

“Is _that_ why you can’t judge me?”

“Uh… yyyyeah, let’s go with that.”

Solid raised an eyebrow.

The conversation died rather unceremoniously and so thoroughly that when Solid grabbed his lighter, Otacon didn’t even look at him. Solid took a long drag, deep in thought.

“Wait,” he said at length, “Otacon, if you think Liquid is hot, then…”

“Huh?” Otacon hadn’t really been paying attention, lost in his own thoughts. “What, Snake?”

“…nevermind.”


	91. Roll My Stockings Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during FeetGround chapter 69, not to be considered canon ("canon"), requested by eternal Ocelmantis slut hingabee.  
> Ocelot can't resist Mantis' docile state.
> 
> Explicit - dubcon  
> W/C 1,887

Summer 2007, somewhere outside the Utah Valley.

It was silent in the car for a little while, and Ocelot could tell by the tenor of Mantis’ breathing, audible through the gas mask, that he was still awake… he considered letting him just go to sleep until they reached Colorado; at this point, he’d shown enough of a connection to his own personality and memories that Ocelot didn’t see a potential problem with that.

However, something was nagging him.

“You’ve really forgotten everything, haven’t you?” Ocelot said, adjusting his rear-view mirror to look at Mantis, who was pressing his gas mask against his knees.

“Hm?” Mantis looked up at him. He, unsurprisingly, still seemed vaguely lost.

“You barely know who Eli and myself are, and we’re arguably the two closest people to you in your life.”

“I… I know who you are.”

“Better than you know who Eli is?”

“…”

Ocelot twitched his moustache. “I don’t blame you,” he said, “after all, I’m the one who showed up to drag your skinny butt out of there, not him. I’m sure you’ll remember him once you see his face again.”

“I suppose…?”

“…you trust everything I say right now implicitly, don’t you?”

Mantis, whose attention had started drifting, turned back to him again. “Eh?”

“I could tell you the Earth is flat and you’d probably believe me.”

“Wouldn’t ships fall off the edge?”

“Funny. Remember, Mantis, you hate me with a fiery passion.”

Mantis nodded.

He was _so_ docile and impressionable right now.

Ocelot sighed, pulling off to the side of the (empty anyway) road, parking the car, and climbing out of the front seat to loom over Mantis instead.

Mantis just seemed slightly confused, not at all threatened or even cautious. “Ocelot…? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Bogomolechik.” (Mantis glanced away as soon as he was called that.) “I just want to see how much you remember.”

“Remember of what?” Mantis tugged Ocelot’s duster a little closer around his shoulders.

“Sixteen years ago.” Ocelot put his hand on Mantis’ leg, maintaining one-side eye contact. “The KGB.”

“…I’m sorry,” Mantis whispered, “I don’t remember.”

“That’s alright. I could help you… but then again, I don’t want to overwhelm you.” He started to withdraw again. “Eli may be able to do a better job anyway, and you need this opportunity to rest.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

Slowly Mantis reached out and gripped Ocelot’s sleeve. “Wait. Ocelot. …help me.”

Ocelot considered it for a moment, the grabbed Mantis by the jaw - his touch was gentle but unyielding, with more force behind it than necessary - and turned his face to him. He searched his eyes. “You want to remember?”

“I want to… know who I am. To you.”

“I told you. You’re a neurotic child, and you hate me.”

“I… yes.”

Ocelot moved closer to him, putting one knee conspicuously between Mantis’ legs, nudging them apart ever-so-slightly. “It wasn’t always that way, though.”

“Oh?” Mantis parted his legs willingly - or at least, unconsciously.

“Alright, you _were_ always a neurotic child. But… if I tell you how you _used_ to feel about me, then it may end up complicating things with Eli.”

Mantis stared at him for a moments, then leaned back against the seat, his grip on Ocelot’s sleeve loosening. “Proceed,” he said.

Ocelot had to stop and laugh. Mantis probably hadn’t been this deliberately vulnerable in, well, sixteen years. Him being so out of it was definitely a contributing factor, but still…

“What is so funny?” Mantis said, finally having the sense to be alarmed.

“Nothing,” Ocelot replied. He moved to slide his duster off of Mantis’ shoulders, but Mantis seemed reluctant to give it up, so Ocelot instead turned his attention to his various belts and starting unbuckling the ones around his hips. He could feel Mantis shiver under his hands.

“This is- normal?” Mantis said uncertainly.

“It’s complicated,” Ocelot said. Mantis was already sweaty under the leather; maybe he should have thought twice before strolling around Cape Town dressed like _that_. “There’s a reason why we don’t talk about it much.”

“I… I see.” He moved his hands up to Ocelot’s shoulders - wound his fingers into his scarf anxiously. “But… Eli and I… if we are lovers, then… where do you fit in?”

“Eli sleeps with me too.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t like Ocelot could be accused of even lying, technically. He tugged Mantis’ pants halfway down his legs. It was nice to know that at least a _little_ of that cute bright red hair still grew _somewhere_ on his body.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Mantis asked as Ocelot brushed his hand over his skin.

“Yes, Bogomolechik. What else would I do with you?”

“I— just, right now?”

Ocelot raised an eyebrow and glanced conspicuously down. “You’re not even hard yet.”

“…” Mantis looked away, embarrassed.

Ocelot moved forward, folding himself somewhat awkwardly into the space between the back and front seats. He grasped Mantis’ penis in his hand and leaned towards him - Mantis twitched at his breath, and gasped when he felt Ocelot’s mouth.

Considering Liquid’s propensity for oral sex, maybe Mantis getting erect so quickly, shuddering and bucking into Ocelot’s mouth, was at least partially a Pavlovian response. Ocelot didn’t mind. Besides, he had it on good authority that Mantis didn’t normally do much in the way of sex noises besides provide running commentary, and yet right now he was mumbling almost hysterically, cursing under his breath and pushing his fingers through Ocelot’s hair.

“Oce…Ocelot… fuck—“

Ocelot removed his gloves, then moved one finger to Mantis’ asshole and started circling it, teasing it. Mantis made a confused, distressed noise.

“Ocelot—“

Mantis yelped as he worked one finger in dry. Ocelot pulled his mouth off of him, chuckling. “Relax,” he said, “it’s just my fingers.”

“O-Ow… shouldn’t you… shouldn’t you use some sort of lube…?”

“Well, if you’re going to be fussy about it,” Ocelot grubbed, pulling his finger out and withdrawing. Ocelot had some actual lube this time, in a case of his belongings that he’d tossed into the footwell of the passenger seat some hours ago.

His fingers went in easier this time, prompting a small moan that was cut off with a strangled little whimper as Ocelot went back to sucking Mantis’ dick. He only did it as long as it took to stretch Mantis, though — as soon as he deemed him more or less ready, Ocelot pulled off, repositioned the two of them in the cramped space (Mantis being so skinny made him terribly convenient to manhandle) and unzipped his pants.

“Hurry up,” Mantis said, his voice almost a whisper.

“Aren’t you ashamed?” Ocelot purred, pressing up against him.

“?”

“Don’t play dumb… getting fucked in the backseat of a rental car by someone thirty years your senior?”

“This is a rental car?”

“I suppose I wasn’t planning on giving it _back_ …” Ocelot pushed forward. Mantis inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing. “Shh. Relax, Bogomolechik.”

“You… oh…” Mantis squirmed. “Big…”

“Ah, you’re just not used to this. You spend more time with Eli than you do with me, and I’m afraid he’s just… completely useless as a top.”

“Mm.” Mantis blinked, then shifted his hips, trying to adjust. “So… it is only with you that I…?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Then…” he shifted again, “go on.”

“You’re surprisingly demanding, Bogomolechik.”

“Nnn.” He braced himself against Ocelot’s shoulders as Ocelot started thrusting in and out, slowly at first, then building up more speed as Mantis’ last defenses dropped and all resistance slipped away. “Ah…”

“You like this, hm?”

“Y— yes, Ocelot…”

Ocelot squeezed him against the upholstery of the backseat - Mantis’ boots knocked against the window. “Of course you do. Even despite the indignity of it — or perhaps, because of it… after all, it’s only what you’re used to.”

Mantis panted. “I…?”

“You and Eli love each other very much,” Ocelot whispered in his ear, “but I’ve seen how you two fuck. You’re just incompatible. No one person can keep up with Eli’s sex drive, let alone _you_ , and at the same time the poor man can’t be dominant to save his life, leaving you with unfulfilled desires…”

“A-Ah…” Mantis clenched around him, gripping his shoulders hard. “So… that’s- that is where you fit in, then…”

“Yes. Both of you come to me very often just out of sheer desperation.” He bit Mantis’ earlobe. “It’s funny. Everyone knows Eli’s a slut, but with _you_ it’s a well-kept secret.”

“Ha— I’m not-“

A hard thrust. Mantis yowled.

“You are,” Ocelot said, “you just don’t want to admit it. You’re very prideful, normally…”

“I- I—!”

His protests were cut off as Ocelot palmed his dick and started roughly jacking him off in time to his even rougher fucking. Mantis writhed underneath him, breathing harshly.

Eventually Mantis tipped over the edge with an undignified squeal that was salvaged only by the distortion of his filter. As his orgasm faded off, he went slack, letting go of Ocelot and melting against the backseat. Ocelot could almost swear he’d passed out — at any rate, he finished up in a few minutes, biting Mantis’ neck hard enough to make it bleed as he did. Mantis barely twitched. Ocelot wiped the blood away with his thumb, feeling his pulse below it; despite him going basically catatonic, Mantis’ heart was still pounding.

“Are you… done?” Mantis breathed, at length, as Ocelot pulled out.

“I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep on me.”

“I am… tired.”

“Mm.” He fixed his pants, and when Mantis made no move to put his own clothes back in order Ocelot did that for him. “Well, sleep it off, then. I’ll keep driving. Don’t want to keep Eli waiting.”

“Oh… no, we don’t…”

“I’d advise you not to tell him about this, by the way.”

Mantis gave him a sleepy, quizzical look. “Why?”

Ocelot shrugged. “Eli doesn’t like hearing or thinking about your sexual escapades with me unless we’re having a threesome with him. Just between you and me, I think he’s jealous that he doesn’t get all of your attention for a few hours, so he just tries to ignore it.”

“Ah. I see…”

“He’s already stressed about this whole,” he waved a hand, “ _abduction_ situation, so if I were you I’d just pretend that this never happened so as not to upset him further.”

Mantis nodded. “Is it bad that I think it is sort of weird that Eli would let me sleep with you even though it makes him jealous?”

“It’s only fair, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be right for him to say that if _he_ sleeps with me it’s alright, but if _you_ do it then it’s unacceptable. So he lets you do it - he just doesn’t want to hear about it.”

Mantis tilted his head. “That makes sense,” he mumbled.

Ocelot gave him a bland smile that may or may not have revealed more feeling than he wanted it to. “Get some sleep then, Mantis.” He returned to the driver’s seat. “We should be in Colorado by the time you wake up.”

“Nn… Ocelot?”

“What is it?” Ocelot said, shifting out of park.

“I don’t… understand how I’m supposed to hate you. Yet we do… this…”

“Hate is just as complicated an emotion as love is, Bogomolechik.”


	92. conspiranet.com/forums/




	93. Save Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How I loved you_ / _How I cried_ / _The years of care and loyalty_ / _Were nothing but a sham it seems_
> 
> General Audiences - No Archive Warnings Apply  
> W/C 1,394

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was basically hingabee's idea and also she's the one who kept spurring me to write this even though COLLEGE

199X, Southern Iraq.

The boy had every right to be worried when the pilot got sick. It was only months ago that the last of their other prisoners perished because of illness spreading through the makeshift cells; the pilot had survived then, barely it seemed, and the boy often caught a look on his face that clearly said he would have preferred to die.

Maybe he should be grateful for the sickness. After all, his captors wouldn’t touch him for fear of it spreading to _them_.

Except for the boy.

His countrymen understood, of course, that with just one hostage remaining they couldn’t afford to just let him die, so the boy’s task was to make sure he stayed alive. They acted like it was some kind of punishment assignment. Teasing him for his kindness and guilt — of course, the pilot was only a few years older than him… why wouldn’t he have sympathy for him in particular? Not that the boy could condone how _any_ of the prisoners had been treated when they were still alive. He was of the opinion that even enemies should be treated humanely. It said so in the Qur’an.

There was no real reason to think the pilot was contagious, or if he was it probably wasn’t anything that would affect the kid too badly - _he_ was still healthy (though he’d lost weight from the stress of living in a prison camp), whereas the prisoner… had one foot in the grave at the best of times. But his illness seemed like a simple summer cold, only life-threatening because the pilot was starving and maltreated. The boy made sure to keep his mouth shut about it being safe to be around him, though… his countrymen wouldn’t blame him. A weak cough and a high fever could mean anything to an illiterate teenage goatherd, right?

The pilot wheezed. “I’m… I’m not going to… m-make it…”

The boy cocked his head at him, uncapping his canteen. The fever had some hours ago reached the point of delirium, but in his exhausted state the most the pilot could do was mumble waveringly in English.

Kid didn’t _know_ English. Why would he? It wasn’t until the war that he’d even left his village. Out of curiosity he’d often listened in on the prisoners’ conversation, and learned a few words, but— just a handful of names (not the pilot’s name, he wasn’t allowed to have that) and a jealously guarded collection of words he thought sounded nice but didn’t understand the meaning of, like _bluebird_ , _mother_ , _umbrella_ , _freedom_ ; of the words he actually knew, it was really only very common words: _yes_ , _no_ , _hello_ , _food_ , _water_ , _please_ , _help_ , _stop_ , and _want-to-go-home_.

“I’m s-sorry. I shouldn’t… have left. I’m sorry, I was wr-wrong, I… sorry…”

“S’okay,” the boy said, approaching. He recognized the word ‘sorry’ and that was all, but was pretty sure saying it was s’okay was the comforting response to it. The prisoner vaguely shifted his gaze towards him. He was pale and sweating, eyes glassed over. It was probably difficult for him to cling to consciousness.

“You- you must be thirsty, pilot,” the boy whispered in Arabic, “take my canteen. C…come on.” Barely a twitch in response. If his eyes weren’t open, the boy would have thought he was asleep. ~~If his chest weren’t shallowly moving, the boy would have thought he was dead.~~ “Water,” the boy encouraged in English.

The pilot reached up a hand, missing the canteen and instead swiping vaguely near the kid’s face. “What are… what are you doing here? M-Mantis? You came f-for me?”

The boy heard it as _Mantez_ and he knew it was a name because his pilot called it out so often in his sleep. He supposed it was a friend or family member, girlfriend or fiancée left behind. He had no way of knowing what this Mantez girl looked like, except that he kind of thought it sounded like a Spanish name, maybe, but the prisoner definitely had to be out of it to look at the boy and see someone else.

“No,” the boy said, keeping his voice soft, pushing the canteen closer. Lots of water was the best way to fight a fever, especially in this heat. “Water.”

The prisoner became upset. “No? No? Wh-what do you mean, no, Mantis— I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry I-I left, please,” he pushed the canteen away, spilling some on the boy’s pant leg and boot, “don’t a-a-abandon me now, I _want_ to come back to you, I-I’m so sorry-!”

“S’okay, s’okay, s’okay,” the boy said again. “Hello. Water. Water… yes?” He stumbled through his lines, trying to get the pilot to take a drink.

He settled down once the boy said ‘yes’. “Oh, Mantis,” he breathed hoarsely, “I th-think I’m dying. Did you… really come for me?”

“Yes,” the boy said, getting the distinct impression that even now he was getting looked at but not really seen. Whoever he was to this prisoner - his captor, his caretaker, his coward — right now he was ‘Mantez’. “Yes, tayar. Yes. Water?”

As ‘Mantez’ his pilot allowed him to touch him. It was funny in a sad, dark way. Usually the pilot would flinch back (and sometimes hiss or growl) if anyone got even remotely close to him. Completely understandable after what’d been done to him so far. But feverish and weak and confused, the prisoner placidly accepted the kid sitting down next to him, propping him up with one arm around his shoulders, and with the other hand raising his canteen to the pilot’s lips himself. After some coaxing the pilot managed a few feeble swallows, hopefully getting more water into his stomach than down his chin.

“Yes, yes. Water yes. S’okay.”

The pilot coughed. “Mantis… I’m s-sorry…”

Boy opted to just shush him and give him more water.

“I’m… I’m r-ruined now, I… know th-that… they ruined me, I’m n-not… not worth…” the boy got him to take another drink, “I, I, I’ve been tainted and d-destroyed, and it’s st-stupid because I always thought that y-you be… my…” he trailed off into a coughing fit, tensing up in the kid’s arms.

“Shh.” The kid wiped sweat off the pilot’s face with his fingers. His hair had been just a little rebelliously longer than regulation cut when he first got here, and was now a matted uneven stubble — the boy thought the gold straw color of it was so unusual and pretty, though, especially with his exotic bright blue eyes.

“…ah… ha… p-please…”

“Yes,” the boy said. He rubbed the pilot’s shoulder, trying to get him to relax. “Yes. Help.”

His pilot leaned against him, eyelids heavy. “H-Help me… get me o-out of here, Mantis… I’m sorry I l-left. Don’t, don’t leave me h-here.”

“Help,” the boy said again.

“I w-want to go home w-with you… I want to g-go home…”

“Want-to-go-home,” the boy whispered.

“Y-Yes…” his pilot closed his eyes. “I can’t st-stay in this place any longer, M-Mantis, or I’m going t-to die… I feel so sick already.” He coughed. The boy rubbed his shoulder again. “It’s so hot, I m-must have a fever, I-I’m not going to make it so just st-stop giving me water and get me o-out of here…!”

“Water?” the boy said, picking the canteen back up.

The pilot pushed it away again without even opening his eyes, instead burying his face into the kid’s rough-woven shirt. “I d-don’t want to die here. I want to die with y-you.”

The boy was silent for a few moments, then was startled out of his worried reverie by the prisoner coughing against his chest.

“Go-home,” the boy said.

“Nnn… Mantis…”

“Go-home… yes. Tayar go-home.”

His pilot either shook his head or wiped his face on the boy’s clothes, then the last little bit of tension bled away and the poor man fell asleep, wheezing softly. The boy, afraid to move and disturb him, tried to feel his temperature from the back of his neck — he was still burning up. He glanced at the door to the cell, and the barred window on it. Beyond it, the open sky was visible.

The boy thought about a little bird slipping through the gaps in those bars and flying away, flying away and back to Mantez.

“Yes help… go home, tayar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/n "tayar" means "pilot"


	94. Memes 8

  
(h/t hingabee) (OKAY, OKAY, geez)

  
(art credit [Phase7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phase7/pseuds/Phase7))

  
(h/t hingabee)

  
(h/t hingabee)

  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t Brambora)


	95. Doxxing/revival memes 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of when some bitter, jealous busybodies doxxed me. Why? Who fuckin knows. Had to take everything down because they got my mom involved (???). On the plus side, through that I really got close to my now-girlfriend Leo and obviously, everything that was lost was restored (except the comments sections...) by my social-media-proxy, PP, in addition to me posting new fics throughout the year because why the _fuck_ would I give up doing something I love just because some assholes on tumblr are all sour grapes about it?  >:3  
>   
> To celebrate the anniversary, dacryphilia (from the discord server) posted this screenshot, which I am now posting here.
> 
> It'd be more appropriate to post tomorrow but apparently PP will be busy so I said go ahead just post it now ;0


	96. Mr. Cellophane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Mantis and Ocelot were "clearing the air" about in chapter 90 of _May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_.
> 
> General Audiences - allusions to past Underage  
> W/C 1,326

July 2007, Paradise Lost Army FOB.

With Liquid back in Prague getting his new arm, Mantis was starting to realize that he didn’t really know anyone else here. (Though to be fair, he was vaguely aware that he’d never interacted with PLA before this, not counting EVA.) He had Benedict, at least, but Benedict was a very excitable and cuddly dog and Mantis felt bad keeping him cooped up in his room with him, expecting him to stay quiet and sit still so Mantis could nap with a warm furry weight on him. That was what Liquid was for.

In lieu of that, Mantis decided to check out what Ocelot was doing… he was stationed in the office directly across from the room Liquid and Mantis had claimed, and apparently liked to work with the door open, which Mantis couldn’t remember if he’d used to do that or not. When Ocelot glanced up from the desk, he looked rough — his face was all bandaged and he had two black eyes. He seemed unbothered by it, though.

“Well?” he said, “don’t just hover in the doorway, boy, either come in or get out.”

Sheepishly Mantis stepped into the room, politely closing the door behind him.

“That’s better.” Ocelot turned back to the papers he was sorting. “Now, what do you want?”

“Um…”

“Just bored because Liquid’s gone?”

Mantis approached, standing by the desk and peering at Ocelot’s papers. It was mostly numbers. “No…” he said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About anything in particular, or just to kill time?”

“I… I am sorry Eli broke your nose.”

Ocelot raised an eyebrow.

Mantis looked down, self-conscious. “I did not ask him to confront you about… our mutual past.”

“I figured. I imagine, too, that Liquid didn’t ask you to apologize on his behalf.”

“No… of course not.”

Ocelot abandoned his papers and instead, steepled his fingers in front of him, peering up at Mantis through his eyelashes. “Sensitive subject or no, normally the only reason why you’d feel bad that Liquid broke my nose is because he failed to at least break my _jaw_.”

“Mm.” Mantis shook his head. “Do you think I _should_ be mad you?”

“Oh, I think you have every right to. I don’t pretend to not know why Liquid wanted to kill me over your little revelation.”

Mantis was silent for a moment, then drummed his fingers on the desk and murmured, “Зна́ет ко́шка, чьё мя́со съе́ла.”

Ocelot smirked. “До́брое сло́во и ко́шке прия́тно,” he replied, shifting the conversation smoothly to Russian, “so I appreciate the apology. But you didn’t come in here _just_ to say sorry, did you?”

“…I don’t know.”

“If you expect any sympathy for playing the seducer when you’re barely seventeen, you’ve come to the wrong person. For many reasons.”

“I’m aware.” Mantis didn’t say it stiffly or coldly like he normally would have - lately he’d been taking the plain and earnest conversational tone of a precocious child, no matter the subject.

“What do you want, then?” He gestured to the papers on the desk. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

“I thought you were just organizing all the contact information and financial things that you gave to EVA.”

“Yes, but that’s very important.”

Again Mantis was silent for a moment, leaning against the desk and staring blankly down at the papers. At length he spoke again. “I think I am just anxious.”

Ocelot at least had the decency to not make a sarcastic remark in response to that, but he did make a very _Oh, but whatever for?_ expression.

“I realized… outside of Eli… I do not really have anyone except you. Who knows me well enough, I mean, to—“

“Don’t even go there, boy.”

Mantis shut up with a gulp. Ocelot started sorting papers again, making a few annotations along the way.

“…whatever you _think_ there is or was between us, I want to make it very clear that our relationship has _only ever_ been one of convenience. I’ll admit I have, on occasion, acted like I actually _care_ for you, but before you got mindraped you understood perfectly well that _I do not_. Lately you’ve had the same immature attitude you had as a teenager, and while I don’t blame you I don’t want you taking it to heart. You’re nothing more to me than an asset, do you understand? I could kill you just as easily as I could do anything else. Just because I’ve been soft on you doesn’t mean you should make the mistake of thinking that you mean anything to me — or that _you_ have any sort of feelings for _me_. Don’t fool yourself, Mantis.”

“…” Mantis looked at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Ocelot sighed. “I’m not angry at you. Pretend emotions can get just as complicated as the real thing for some people. Just ask EVA about that.” He paused. “Actually, don’t. I’ve kept our little indiscretion a secret from her all these years because she would absolutely kill me if she knew.”

“Oh.”

There was a stretch of eerily comfortable silence. Despite Ocelot’s harsh words, Mantis could even in his current state detect an undercurrent of _worry_. Maybe Ocelot was just subtly acting, or maybe he had different reasons to worry about Mantis’ emotional state, or maybe the lie had been the part where he said he didn’t care.

Because Ocelot obviously _did_ care, he cared quite a lot — it was just hard to tell if he cared about anyone or anything outside of Big Boss.

Mantis didn’t comment on that.

“I do have a request,” he said.

“Mm?”

“I want you to teach me how to use a gun.”

Ocelot’s pen stopped scratching. He looked up at Mantis in moderate surprise. “You’ve always thought guns were beneath you.”

“Because of my powers,” Mantis said, “but… right now…”

“Right now I don’t think you should be anywhere near a firefight. You’d just be a liability.”

“That is not what I mean,” he said, frustrated, “I mean that right now, it proves that things can happen to me that remove my ability to use my powers - I do not even know if I will get them _back!_ ”

“I’m sure you will.”

“But if something like this happens again? …I have relied on my powers my whole life but… I cannot do that anymore. They’ve proved unreliable. But I still want to… be reliable myself.”

“For Liquid’s sake, I suppose?” Ocelot said.

Mantis nodded. “I want to still be able to protect Eli, even if something… happens to me. I know, I know it really should be Eli protecting me and not the other way around, but I just do not want him to come to any more harm, especially because of me. At the very least I want to be able to defend myself even without my powers, so that Eli does not have to worry about it.”

“…that’s fair. And you figured a gun would be the best way to do that?”

“Of course. Anyone can use a gun, and a bullet is just as lethal shot by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

Ocelot nodded. “Though first of all we’d have to find you a sidearm that wouldn’t snap your skinny wrists when you fire it. A .22, probably. Perhaps one of those guns designed for civilian women.”

“Aren’t those usually revolvers?”

“Surprised?” Ocelot said with a smile, “I think you’d have trouble with the slide on a pistol anyway.”

“So you can teach me?”

“Why me? There’s plenty of people around who’d be willing to give you a crash course. It’s not even like your motivation is embarrassing, I think EVA’d probably cry if you told her you just wanted to protect her son.”

“But I want _you_ to teach me. I cannot think of anyone better to—“

“What the hell is going on in here?!” Liquid shouted, kicking open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian proverbs  
> Зна́ет ко́шка, чьё мя́со съе́ла = A cat knows whose meat it has eaten, meaning a guilty conscience needs no accuser  
> До́брое сло́во и ко́шке прия́тно = Even a cat appreciates kind words


	97. Infirm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid has a _really_ bad couple of days.
> 
> General Audiences - Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> W/C 5,362

1995, Mali, Tin-Essako Cercle.

It was probably exactly the situation people thought of when they heard a conflict had reached the point where it was mostly hired mercenaries doing the actual fighting.

It was a bitter clash between two local tribes who were both, by now, tired of fighting and everyone hoped that the rumored peace settlement moderates on both sides were pushing would soon come to pass. In the meantime, the civil war continued - the Tuareg had hired Outer Heaven to escort a shipment of weapons and supplies on the last stretch from Libya, and some under-the-table money from the Libyans had given them enough purchasing power to demand one of Outer Heaven’s elite groups do the escorting; the opposing Ghanda Koi Songhai militia was apparently unwilling to go up against Outer Heaven’s combat unit A- through S-Rank Group #2, so they’d hired a powerful rival PF in the region, Rogue Coyote, which had had some adjustments in the chain of command since 1984.

In other words, two groups of soldiers with absolutely no stake in Mali’s future were going to be killing each other over a convoy while the Tuareg and Songhai watched comfortably from a distance.

“I love my job,” Liquid said.

“Neither of us actually _care_ what happens,” Drowsy Quoll complained, leaning back on her haunches. It was nighttime and most of the unit had gathered around the campfire, eating dinner. “Why can’t we just talk it out with RC and mutually agree to go home? PF vs. PF is such bullshit.”

“I care what happens,” Wolf said. She had a soft spot for ethnic groups struggling for independence.

“And that’s breaking protocol.”

“If the convoy doesn’t get to the Tuareg encampment then we’re not going to make much money off this,” Liquid said, picking through his rice. He was looking for more mushrooms; he’d already eaten most of them. “Besides, I think it’s nice to be able to go no-holds-barred against fellow industry professionals. I can only tolerate fighting half-trained tribal militias _so_ many times.”

“You’re such an elitist, Liquid,” Punching Crab chuckled.

“Well excuse me for not wanting to die for basically nothing,” Drowsy Quoll said.

“You’re a sniper,” Fever Tree Frog said, “if you get shot, then you were doing it wrong.” Wolf laughed and high-fived her.

Liquid had a bit of a giggle, too. It was always amusing how catty the women at Outer Heaven could be to each other - unless they had a man to team up against. He put down his plate and stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Need to take a leak, huh?” Punching Crab said.

“Shut up.”

“Be careful out there,” Acid Raccoon said, “I bet RC is spying on us.”

“I’m just going to the edge of camp, not the other side of the desert. Not that I’d be worried even if I were,” he said, patting his sidearm confidently. He walked off. Wolf reached over and stole his plate, finding and eating the last of his mushrooms.

* * *

“Hey,” Sly Ibex said, approaching the campfire, “has anyone seen Liquid?”

“He went to take a bathroom break like half an hour ago,” Punching Crab said, “I kind of assumed he just went straight to bed.”

“Did he? Okay. …this is his gun, right?”

“Let me see,” Wolf said, taking it from Sly Ibex. It was fairly easy to peg it as Liquid’s, considering there weren’t many people who kept their weapons fastidiously clean but were also, at the same time, the kind of idiot who used a pistol as a multitool, which scratched and dented the hell out of it. “Where did you find this?”

“Lying in the grass a little outside the edge of camp. Maybe he dropped it.”

“ _Liquid?_ I think he would lose his head before he lost his sidearm.”

“I’ll go check in the tent for him,” Acid Raccoon said, standing up. “Actually, we should all look for him before he gets in trouble for dropping his sidearm.”

“I do not think he _dropped_ it, he just would not do that unless something were _very_ wrong,” Wolf insisted, “I’m going straight to Buffalo!”

“And we’ll tell Liquid it was your idea when he gets disciplined again,” Drowsy Quoll said, rolling her eyes.

The dinner group scattered. Camp wasn’t exactly big and it wasn’t exactly easy to come and go without being seen, with everyone so close together; it took about five minutes to confirm that Liquid was nowhere to be found, and while Razor Turkey had seen him go into the bushes to pee, he hadn’t seen him come back out.

“Okay, this is not good,” Flaming Buffalo said, rubbing her chin. “He wasn’t acting weird, was he?”

“No more than usual,” Punching Crab said.

“And if he got bit by a snake or something I don’t see how he wouldn’t have come right back here… Ibex, show me where you found his gun.”

Ibex lead Buffalo et al. over to an unremarkable patch of grass just outside the perimeter of camp. There wasn’t anything that immediately stood out, apart from the faint smell of urine from half the camp already taking bathroom breaks here.

“Gross,” Drowsy Quoll commented.

“Look, some of the stalks are bent,” Wolf said, pointing out a slightly trampled patch. “Maybe he fell over. …wait, is that blood?!”

Flaming Buffalo knelt down and looked at it, then put her finger in it. “How long did you say it’s been since anyone saw him?”

“Forty-five minutes?” Razor Turkey said.

“That’s about how old this blood is. And considering he’s missing, and his gun was left behind… I’d say he got attacked by RC scoping out our camp, got knocked unconscious, and they took him. I’m assuming they would have left his body here if they’d killed him.”

“Or hid his body somewhere nearby,” Drowsy Quoll said.

“Then spread out and search! I’m not about to let RC get away with attacking us before the engagement even starts!!”

The whole incident was predictably putting Flaming Buffalo in a foul mood, to the point where it was probably better for Liquid’s sake that he _had_ been abducted, because if he’d just wandered off somewhere and caused all this fuss over nothing then Flaming Buffalo was going to kick his ass. Fortunately or unfortunately, Liquid wasn’t anywhere near camp, and they were running out of possibilities other than ‘RC kidnapped him’.

“Was it just because he was alone, or did they specifically target him because he’s the Boss’ son?” Brittle Mockingbird thought out loud.

“It’s the latter, if you ask me,” Violet Rabbit said, “if they were just ambushing someone who was alone, they probably would have gotten someone _before_ him. He definitely wasn’t the first one to go pee in that bush.”

“I hope they zipped up his pants before they dragged him off,” Fever Tree Frog said.

Flaming Buffalo pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do we know where RC’s camp is?”

“Twenty kilometers southeast of here,” Maimed Jaguar, one of the intel team liaisons, reported.

“Okay. I’ll go make contact, see what’s going on. Wolf, you come with me.”

“Me?” Wolf said.

“I want discreet backup in case RC doesn’t feel like negotiating — besides, you have Liquid’s diazepam if he needs it. Everyone else stay here and act like things are normal. If at all possible, I’d rather have this over and done with without actually having to tell Base we lost a whole soldier before we even got to the convoy…”

* * *

“Do you think he is alright?” Wolf said. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep that Flaming Buffalo had taken to drive them to the RC camp.

“Last I checked Liquid is pretty much indestructible,” Flaming Buffalo said, sounding mildly bored. “I don’t think RC could kill him if they tried to, and I’m not sure they’d try to. If they targeted him specifically for being the Boss’ son, then it’d make more sense to hold him hostage than to kill him.”

“And if we are wrong and he is not even there?”

“Then there’s no reason why RC shouldn’t be cordial, the engagement isn’t until tomorrow. We’re not getting paid to kill each other until then. …I just don’t know what would have happened to Liquid if he’s not there.”

“He is almost more trouble that he’s worth.”

Flaming Buffalo snorted. “You’ve got that right.”

The radio beeped, then crackled and garbled as an unfamiliar frequency tried to make contact. Flaming Buffalo picked it up; it beeped again, and the intel team at Base came online.

“RC is trying to contact you. Should I patch them through?”

“RC shouldn’t have this frequency,” Flaming Buffalo said, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Maybe it’s Liquid,” Wolf said.

“Mm. Patch it through, Fawn.”

The radio beeped again. “…hello…?”

“Liquid?!”

“Buffalo, is that you? I— I don’t know where I am.”

Flaming Buffalo handed the radio to Wolf so she could focus on driving. “Do you remember what happened?” Wolf asked him.

“…” Liquid was silent for a while. “…I don’t know. Ermm, last I remember I was eating dinner at camp. Now I’m… I don’t know. I feel sick.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Maybe they drugged him,” Flaming Buffalo said.

“My head hurts,” Liquid said, “I’m… woozy. I don’t know where I am.”

“You already said that,” said Wolf.

“Did I?”

“If he’s having trouble remembering things, maybe they just hit him over the head,” Flaming Buffalo mused. “Liquid, just stay put, do you hear me? Wolf and I are on our way to pick you up. You called us from an RC radio, so you’re with them, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you _not_ know,” Wolf said.

“There’s no on here, I think I’m alone.”

Flaming Buffalo blinked. “Are you not that the RC camp? Stay put anyway, I’ll just get the intel team to trace your-“

“I’m at _a_ camp,” Liquid said, sounding extremely confused, “but I’m the only one here. It’s just me and a bunch of dead bodies.”

“Oh boy.”

“Dead how?” Wolf said.

“I’m, I’m not sure,” Liquid said. The poor man did sound a little bit freaked out, so it was probably wise of Flaming Buffalo to bring Wolf along. “Violently? There’s a lot of blood everywhere, even on me.”

“Are you injured?”

“My head hurts…”

“Just stay put,” Flaming Buffalo said, “Wolf and I are about ten kilometers away now.”

“Ah… alright…”

The radio beeped again as it switched back over to the intel radio support - except instead of Leaping Fawn it was an extremely agitated-sounding Psycho Mantis. Flaming Buffalo got that ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ expression.

“ _What_ is going on out there?” Mantis snapped.

Wolf scratched her cheek. “Liquid got abducted, we guess.”

“How. How! You have the whole unit there and somehow still manage to lose an entire soldier?!”

“He was alone, and got ambushed.”

“What was he even _doing_ alone! You let him wander off by himself???”

“He is not a child,” Wolf argued, “besides, he was close to camp when it happened.”

“How incompetent do you have to be to let someone get ambushed while _close to camp!?_ Do you just let enemy soldiers walk right up to your perimeter?!?”

“Um. Maybe it was an enemy sniper? Somebody would have heard if Liquid put up a fight.”

“Oh,” Mantis said shrilly, “so he got shot by a sniper, and then I suppose he just walked _himself_ over to the RC camp!”

Flaming Buffalo reached over and turned off the radio. She and Wolf drove in silence for almost a full minute.

“He is really obnoxious,” Flaming Buffalo said.

“He’s just worried,” Wolf replied, “and he is not so bad once you get to know him.”

“He has no right to yell at us like that, he’s not even assigned to this mission and since Liquid contacted us he’s _clearly_ fine.”

The radio beeped again. Wolf picked it up.

“Hello…?” Liquid said.

“We will be there soon, Liquid.”

“You will? Be where?? I don’t know where I am.”

“…did he forget that he already called us?” Flaming Buffalo said.

“Did I???”

* * *

The Rogue Coyote camp legitimately looked and felt like something out of a horror film.

For what should have been a busy if temporary military camp, it was eerily silent and deserted. Their campfire was almost burned out and the whole place smelled faintly of smoke and gore. Wolf and Flaming Buffalo exchanged glances.

“What happened?” Wolf hissed.

Flaming Buffalo shook her head. “I don’t know. Let’s stick together for now.”

Guns lowered but at the ready, they walked into camp. They didn’t bother to sneak around or hide; they weren’t here to fight, just to retreive Liquid and figure out what happened. As they got closer to the remains of the campfire and it got easier to see the camp around them, it became apparent that the camp was _trashed_ \- it looked like at least a few grenades had been set off. Tents were torn and vehicles were mangled. Bullet casings and dropped weapons littered the ground. It didn’t take them long to start finding bodies.

“Wow, Liquid wasn’t kidding,” Flaming Buffalo said, nudging a corpse with her foot. Looked like the guy had been caught in a grenade blast. “There was a massacre here.”

“I think they got shot with their own weapons,” Wolf said, scrutinizing one of Rogue Coyote’s abandoned rifles.

“…you don’t think Liquid did this, do you?”

“I think he is capable of it, but this is… extreme, even for him.”

“It could be that there’s someone or some _thing_ else here… stay close, Wolf.”

The camp wasn’t very big, obviously, but between the debris and the poor lighting there were plenty of shadowy places to lurk. Wolf and Flaming Buffalo picked through it methodically, finding no living souls until Wolf raised the flap of a tent and immediately yelped.

“Wolf!?” Flaming Buffalo said, turning around.

“Liquid!”

“Oh my god I almost shot you,” Liquid said, dropping his gun. His hands were visibly shaking and he was covered in so much blood it looked like he’d gone down a marinara sauce slip-and-slide. “What are you doing here? Wh- what am _I_ doing here? What’s going on??”

“Aw, Liquid…”

“You deal with him, Wolf,” Flaming Buffalo said, patting her on the shoulder. “Bring him to the Jeep, I’ll clear the rest of the camp just in case.”

“Yes ma’am. Liquid, come on.”

“Huh?” Wolf had to take Liquid’s hand to drag him out of the tent and lead him over to the Jeep. In the firelight she could see that most of the blood on him was old and drying, but some of the blood matting his hair looked fresh.

“Does your head still hurt?”

“What… yes, it does, but… how did you know my—“

Wolf sighed in frustration. “Don’t you remember calling us on the radio?”

“The radio? I don’t have a radio.”

“Then what’s that in your pocket?”

“?” Liquid pulled a Rogue Coyote hand-radio out of the front pocket of his shirt. He seemed genuinely surprised that he had it.

“Do you have a concussion or something?” Wolf said, leaning towards him and peeling back his eyelid. Liquid made an uncomfortable noise. The pupil of the eye Wolf was scrutinizing was slightly less dilated than his other eye, and they both seemed a little too pinpointed for how dark it was. “You do not remember what happened at all, do you?”

“Mm-mm. I just remember… eating dinner. Then I woke up here, then you and Buffalo showed up.”

“So you do not know why all the RC soldiers are dead?”

“No… that’s why I was hiding. I thought their camp had gotten attacked, but I don’t feel well and… erm… I don’t know.” He picked at his clothes nervously. “I didn’t know what was going on, somehow I felt that I was supposed to stay put but I don’t know why.”

“Buffalo told you to wait for us, you must have remembered that on some level.” She took out her tin of diazepam and handed Liquid a few pills. “Here. You are too on edge, I think getting abducted must have, ah, freaked you out.”

Liquid went pale. “I got abducted?”

“It seems like it. Take your medicine.”

Flaming Buffalo returned to the Jeep, shook her head, and got in the driver’s seat. She opened a radio line. “Liquid’s been secured. No survivors at the RC camp when we got there. Can’t say whether or not anyone ran off, but there’s just a bunch of corpses now. We’re headed back to camp.”

“Can you tell what happened?” Leaping Fawn asked.

“I can’t say for sure. Liquid was still at the camp and doesn’t seem too injured, but he doesn’t remember what happened.”

“I think he has a concussion,” Wolf said.

Mantis could be heard screeching “A _concussion???_ ” in the background of the radio call. He was ignored.

“We’ll have Gray look him over once we get back to camp. I’m not sure what’s going to happen tomorrow…”

“Can someone please explain the sequence of events to me?” Liquid said, rubbing his temples as they started heading back.

“You went for a bathroom break and did not come back,” Wolf said, “then we found your gun and knew that something had happened.”

“We thought it might have been RC, so we started heading over here to negotiate,” Flaming Buffalo said, “but halfway here you called us from one of their radios. At that point you told us that everyone was already dead, but even then you were saying you didn’t remember what happened.”

“You even kept forgetting that you called us,” Wolf said with a shrug. “Every few minutes you would frantically call us to tell us that you had no idea where you were.”

“So who killed all the RC soldiers, then?” Liquid said.

“There may be a third party involved here,” Flaming Buffalo said, “but I didn’t see any evidence of it. Nothing left behind that looked out of place and sensitive command documents were left where they were.”

“Who would the third party even be?” Wolf said, “even if the Ghanda Koi militia is the type to try to kill their hired mercenaries instead of pay them, it does not make any sense for them to do that _before_ the convoy arrives.”

“Plus I doubt the Songhai are much of a match for RC,” Flaming Buffalo said, “frankly, I think we’re the only match for them in the whole region. RC’s pretty much our top competitor.”

“Maybe they did not send their best for this mission?”

“Last I checked RC only _has_ their best, they’re a small group of elites… I think all their soldiers would be B-rank or above if they were with us.”

“Then what happened?” Liquid said, looking extremely frustrated.

Wolf looked over her shoulder at him. “You must have freaked out.”

“…”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Flaming Buffalo said, “I know your… _history_ , so I understand that being taken prisoner would be a trigger for you.”

“Nn.”

“Maybe that is why you don’t remember anything,” Wolf said brightly. “Though I still think you have a concussion.”

“Maybe it _was_ you who took everyone out,” Flaming Buffalo said quietly, “I do remember the time you dislocated Rabbit’s arm during a flashback.”

“That was an accident,” Liquid muttered.

“Rabbit wasn’t being remotely threatening. I can only imagine how you would react to people who _are_ threatening you when you’re in that state.”

“You must have stolen their grenades,” Wolf said. “I think most of the RC soldiers got blown up.”

Liquid sat there with his hand over his mouth for a while, then sighed. “My head really hurts… they must have knocked me out in order to kidnap me.”

“The question is how they even got close enough to do that in the first place,” Flaming Buffalo said. “That really bothers me… if you’re going to pistol-whip someone into unconsciousness, you _have_ to be close to them - but you were right outside of camp and you’re _you_."

“I cannot believe that someone snuck up on you,” Wolf said, “or managed to knock you out in one hit. They would have to run you over with a tank for that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Liquid said faintly.

* * *

They returned to camp without incident. It didn’t take long for Flaming Buffalo’s relaying of events to mutate into _Liquid destroyed an entire enemy encampment all by himself, while grievously injured, because he was just THAT pissed off about being taking prisoner_. No one really found the idea of there having been some kind of third party particularly likely. In the meantime, Liquid got shunted off to the makeshift medical tent, where Gray Crab helped him wash all the blood off of himself (he was still feeling rather uncoordinated) and gave him a thorough examination.

“They definitely hit you over the head with _something_ ,” Gray Crab said, palpating the back of Liquid’s head, causing him to wince. “There’s definite swelling and your symptoms are consistent with a concussion.”

“So— I probably was unconscious when they took me to their camp…?”

“It seems so. That’s really the only sequence of events that makes sense, anyway. Of course they would have had to hit you pretty hard in order to keep you down long enough, since I’m not seeing anything to indicate that you were tranquilized.”

“Hn.”

Gray Crab gave him a clean shirt. “Ordinarily I’d have you sent back to base immediately, just in case, but since the whole unit will be back at Base in two days anywhere I don’t think it’s really worth the resources. I’ll talk to Buffalo, though, in your state I’m afraid you’ll have to hang back and not engage.”

Liquid scowled. “But-“

“Then,” Gray Crab went on over Liquid’s objections, “as soon as we get back to Base, you’ll be getting an x-ray first thing. Your skull _feels_ intact, but I’ve really only been able to rule out open or depressed fractures.”

“You think I broke my _skull?_ ”

“In the meantime I’ll give you a compression bandage and a cold pack.”

Liquid exited the medical tent, grumbling, sore, and very tired. Wolf ran up to him and grabbed his arm.

“How are you?” she said.

“I have a concussion,” he replied.

“Besides that.”

“Gray just benched me for the engagement tomorrow.”

“Aw. That is too bad. …assuming anything even _happens_ tomorrow since you seem to have killed all the RC soldiers.”

“I told you, I don’t remember what happened,” Liquid said, “maybe some of them escaped.”

“Even if some did, if I were them I would cancel the contract. Also there were a _lot_ of bodies.”

“I’m not even sure it was _me_.”

“Who else could it have been?” Wolf said. “Maybe you just really are that scary when you’re freaking out.”

Liquid put a hand over his face. “Please don’t phrase it like that.”

“I almost feel bad for the RC soldiers. Imagine kidnapping someone, and then he turns into an unthinking, fearless, wide-eyed madman and stalks through the camp, slaughtering you with his bare hands one by one…?”

“I thought we came to the conclusion that most of the deaths were caused by grenades… I probably just ransacked their munitions…”

“By the way, Mantis keeps calling the radio and it is getting really annoying. I think you should call him back and tell him you are alright.”

Liquid sighed, taking the proffered radio from Wolf. “Ocelot’s probably not going to happy with him using unit communication channels for personal reasons. Hello? Mantis?”

“ _Eli!_ Are you alright? What happened?!”

“I have no idea,” Liquid said honestly, “I have a concussion, but it must not be that bad, since Gray said I could stay for the engagement. …as long as I don’t _do_ anything. …assuming it even _happens_ still.”

Wolf patted his shoulder. “You can be my and Quoll’s ammo caddie,” she said.

“I cannot believe they are making you stay,” Mantis grumbled, “you should be extracted immediately. This is an emergency!”

“No it is _not_ ,” Liquid snapped. “The medic said I’m _fine_. Flying me back to Base would just be a waste of resources. You’re being selfish.”

“ _I’m_ being _selfish?_ For all I know your brain is slowly leaking out of your skull!”

“And now you’re being ridiculous. I’m completely fine!”

“You can’t even stand up straight right now,” Wolf said.

“Shut up!”

“Also, Buffalo told me to tell you to go to bed as soon as you are done talking to Mantis.”

“Oh my god. She treats me like a five-year-old.”

“I think she thinks that Saladin would hold her personally responsible if anything happened to you.”

“Forget Saladin,” Mantis snarled, “ _I’ll_ hold her personally responsible.”

“I would literally pay to see Buffalo suplex you,” Wolf said.

“This is a private conversation!” Mantis snapped.

“This conversation is over,” Liquid said stiffly, “good night, Mantis. I’ll talk to you when we get back to Base.”

“Wait, Eli—“

Liquid hung up. He felt rather nauseated.

“…he is just worried about you,” Wolf said.

“I’m aware. I’m just… sick of being treated with kid gloves. I’m not a child, I’m not an invalid.”

“He cares about you and you have a dangerous profession. You could have died tonight - do not be so hard on him.”

Liquid snorted. “He’s got a funny way of showing it... I’m actually rather insulted he thinks I could even die out here.”

* * *

With Rogue Coyote out of commission, the convoy the next morning was boring as hell. Liquid got to ride in the APC with Wolf and Drowsy Quoll, who were stationed on top for maximum visibility. Despite Flaming Buffalo’s instructions to remain vigilant, it didn’t take long for the whole escort party to realize there was literally nothing going on and they only needed to remain professional enough to not freak out the vehicles’ drivers.

“You okay down there, Liquid?” Wolf said, peering down the hatch. “You look pale.”

“I think I’m going to be sick…”

“Um, don’t throw up on the supplies,” Drowsy Quoll said.

“It’s so stuffy in here… let me up, I need some air.” Liquid climbed up to the top of the APC. “I don’t usually get motion sick, but…”

“Don’t throw up on _me_ ,” Drowsy Quoll said, scooching away from him.

Wolf patted Liquid’s back. “Gray said that being in the dark would be more comfortable, though? Is it not too bright out here?”

“It’s too bright and my eyes hurt,” Liquid complained, “but I’d _much_ rather have that than-— urk.” He covered his mouth with his hands. “Ghhkn…”

“Uh oh,” Drowsy Quoll said.

“ _Wait_ ,” Wolf started, but she was too late.

To his credit, Liquid did make a visible attempt to make it to the side of the APC so he could vomit safely on the ground beneath them, but he didn’t quite make it - mostly because he was obviously about to lose his balance and Wolf sacrificed herself to make sure he didn’t just fall off and get run over. She ended up with last night’s rice and mushrooms all over her breasts and lap.

“Ewww! Liquid!!”

“I’m s-sorry,” Liquid gasped, wiping his mouth and looking _extremely_ distressed. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

He instinctively reached for her chest to clean it up, and Wolf instinctively shoved him away from her boobs.

Liquid fell off the APC.

“Wolf!!” Flaming Buffalo yelled, “the last thing he needed was another concussion!!!”

Wolf grimaced. “Whoops…”

Mother Base. Two days later.

A- through S-rank Group #2 and associates had decided to pass off the injuries from getting slightly run over by a truck as injuries related to Rogue Coyote’s kidnapping attempt. Wolf was apologetic, so Liquid played along. He didn’t even get hurt that badly, aside from his concussion getting worse — he’d spent the rest of the convoy practically passed out in pain, in the back of Flaming Buffalo’s Jeep.

As Gray Crab had promised, as soon as the unit set foot on Mother Base again, Liquid was dragged off to the medical platform for an x-ray. The results were… surprising.

“I have a bullet embedded in my skull??? A _bullet???_ In my _skull???_ ”

“Explains a lot, doesn’t it?” Shadow Agama said.

“Doesn’t that usually _kill_ people?” Liquid said, frowning.

Shadow Agama shrugged. “You could say the exact same thing about a lot of things you’ve been through in the past, say, six months. And for the record, a bullet in your skull is actually quite harmless if it doesn’t actually get all the way through the brain. The real problem is the force behind the bullet - which is what gave you a concussion in the first place.”

“I got shot in the head. And got a concussion.”

“Yes.” Shadow Agama pointed out the bullet on the x-ray. It was rather… smushed. “I think this is a 7.62mm bullet, am I wrong?”

“Looks like it,” Liquid grumbled. “…you’re saying I got shot in the head by a _sniper_.”

“Yes.”

“And lived.”

“Yes.”

“And now there’s a bullet embedded in my skull.”

“Yes,” Shadow Agama said, “and you need to have that bullet back _out_ of your skull so you can heal up properly and more importantly not risk it migrating into your brain. Unfortunately, it will require surgery.”

Liquid threw his hands up. The motion made him dizzy, but he wouldn’t let that stop him from being dramatic. “ _Great_.”

It was a minor surgery, but did require general anaesthesia. Between that and the concussion, Liquid ended up sleeping for approximately forever.

When he awoke, Mantis was sitting at his bedside, holding his hand.

“Nn…?”

“…” Mantis looked away, suddenly flustered, and let go of his hand. “I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“Mm.”

“How are you feeling?”

“…thirsty,” Liquid croaked. He felt like his whole head was stuffed with cotton. (To be fair, he did have several layers of bandages wrapped around it.)

“Besides that. How is your head? Did Gray tell you the results of your blood test?”

“Blood test?”

“Didn’t you have a blood test?”

“Blood test…?” Liquid echoed again, “why would I need a blood test?”

Again Mantis was silent for a moment. “Nevermind,” he mumbled. “I’m sure you are fine. I doubt you gave the RC soldiers much of a chance to… do anything with you.”

“Mmm.” Liquid wasn’t picking up what Mantis was laying down. He felt like he were moving slowly through a fog. Whatever painkillers they put him on were some good shit.

“I am… glad you’re okay,” Mantis said quietly. “I did not even hear that something happened until it was already confirmed you were alive, but— still, I worry.”

“I’m alright,” Liquid said thickly. “D’you know when I can leave the med bay again?”

“Agama said you should be good to go once the drugs wear off.”

“Hopefully that won’t take too long,” Ocelot said. Liquid didn’t even notice that Ocelot was here - judging by the way Mantis jumped, he had just arrived. “Mantis here has skipped an entire shift just to mope by your bedside - and at a time when the intel team is on high alert, trying to figure out what happened, too.”

“You didn’t need me for that,” Mantis said coldly.

“Not much of a demonstration of work ethic, regardless.”

“What did happen?” Liquid said.

Ocelot waved a hand dismissively. “Buffalo’s initial assumption was right — RC targeted you for being the Boss’ son. Needless to say, he isn’t happy.”

“Oh.”

“They certainly made a mistake targeting you, though,” Mantis said. He had a faintly admiring tone.

“And if it weren’t for that I doubt the Boss would ever let you off Mother Base again,” Ocelot added.

Liquid felt a shiver go down his spine at the thought. He wasn’t doing a good job of convincing his father he was fit to handle himself, was he…?

Mantis - subtly, trying to escape Ocelot’s attention - reached out and squeezed his hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah I don't wanna fuckin work on this ficlet anymore *dies*


	98. Memes 9

  
A new member of our Discord, Wiki, made this comment and Brambora thought the image looked like time periods, so she improved it.

Bonus:  


  
(h/t Brambora)

  
(h/t hingabee)


	99. Fanart 13 (cursed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW**
> 
> Drawn by Phase7 tbh I don't even remember the context other than this being POW Liquid 😂


	100. Fanart 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which [Wiki](https://twitter.com/wiki2world) kills me with her gorgeous, _gorgeous_ drawings. I'm literally dying

  
inspired by After Midnight (Moodboard)

  
_May Your Past Be the Sound of Your Feet Upon the Ground_ chapters 60  & 90

**Author's Note:**

> (any and all comments will be forewarded to aireyv! i will either copy/paste their reply to me or they will reply on their own account! have a nice day!!! if you have any questions, just ask!!!!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [sit down stand up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13707411) by [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee)
  * [Hезаслуженная работа](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785075) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)
  * [Braid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750395) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)
  * [sour times](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265976) by [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee)
  * [numbed in moscow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12598248) by [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee)




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